


Part Five: On the Road

by laridian



Series: A Gun For Barns [5]
Category: Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Amnesia, Bisexual Male Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Demisexual Character, M/M, Mild Language, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Polyamorous Character, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, characters and ships added as they appear in the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:33:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 32
Words: 35,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laridian/pseuds/laridian
Summary: Gunnar Volk took over New Vegas from Mr. House, but war looms closer, and he needs allies to survive.IF YOU READ THIS ANYWHERE EXCEPT AO3, I DID NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR IT TO BE POSTED ELSEWHERE. IF IT IS POSTED ELSEWHERE, IT HAS BEEN STOLEN. DO NOT SUPPORT THIEVES.
Relationships: Male Courier & Arcade Gannon, Male Courier/Arcade Gannon
Series: A Gun For Barns [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1248389
Comments: 79
Kudos: 35





	1. And All the While I'm Loving You

"Something odd happened yesterday," Gunnar said out of nowhere. 

Arcade, lost in his thoughts, took a moment to respond. "Something odd?"

"Yes. On the Strip. A hooker tried to seduce me."

Arcade laughed despite himself. "And that's odd? In Vegas?"

"I know, I know! But I think he was specifically targeting me."

"A man, huh?"

"Yeah." Gunnar checked his Pipboy for the time as they walked. "I was embarrassed for him, actually. I mean, I can't blame someone for resorting to that if they have no other choices. Prostitution, I mean. They come here, lose money, maybe don't even have money to leave, and they've only got one thing left to sell at that point."

"And more likely than not they'll get victimized by someone else and not be able to use their own money. It's an old story," Arcade said. 

"It is, and I don't think it'll ever entirely go away, but that's what I was hoping with my city improvements — oh, sorry."

"What?" Arcade asked after it looked like Gunnar wasn't going to continue.

"I don't want to make you uncomfortable. City planning. You know."

"I think I can keep my ardor in check."

"Are you sure now?" Gunnar raised his eyebrows, this time with a hint of a smirk.

"Yes, I'm sure. How did I become the laughingstock of this — team, group, whatever you want to call us?"

"That's actually something I need to think on, what I should call all of you. Companions? Wasn't that…" Gunnar squinted a little, trying to remember. "Something about Alexander the Great. His elite soldiers, maybe?"

"You're not denying me being the laughingstock," Arcade huffed. He stuck his hands deep in his pockets and hunched his shoulders.

"It'll be someone else's turn soon enough. You know that. Besides, the only one everyone knows about is the grenade." Gunnar struck a dramatic pose, even while walking. _"I_ alone know about your secret turn-on!"

 _Name what you want me to do to keep the secret,_ Arcade thought. _Anything! Anything, Mr. Gannon? Yes! Command me!_ Except Gunnar would likely think this was just continuing the joke and tell him to do something silly, maybe 'moo like a brahmin'.

"…Are you going to keep sulking?" Gunnar asked, more seriously, when Arcade didn't say anything.

"No, I suppose not. What did you do about the hooker?"

"Sent him on his way."

"You know there'll be people who want to sleep with you just because you're the ruler of New Vegas," Arcade said. He saw a light in the distance; with luck it was the trading post they would stay at tonight. 

"That's icky."

"Icky? I can't believe you said 'icky'." Now it was Arcade's turn to tease.

"It is! I couldn't sleep with some stranger just… wanting a one-night stand." Gunnar shuddered. "I know people do it, but it's… icky."

Arcade laughed. "What?" Gunnar said.

"You, a doctor, using the word 'icky'. It's funny!"

"I'm not a medical doctor." Gunnar held his breath, but no memory triggered itself.

"No, but educated persons generally don't use that word." Arcade shook his head. "I don't know what to make of you sometimes."

"I'd say you can make dinner, but looks like we're in luck and we can grab something at this trading post before we sleep."

They stopped at the little trading post for the night, to take advantage of the very basic shelter offered to travelers in exchange for a nominal fee. They ate dinner near the other travelers and Gunnar spoke with them, just small talk and exchange of news. Arcade paid attention with half an ear. 

When it was time for bed, they had separate sleeping bags, but Gunnar backed up against Arcade anyway and fell asleep quickly. It took Arcade somewhat longer.

~ ~ ~

They arrived at Novac the next morning. Gunnar asked to stop by the room first to drop off the packs.

"What should I know, going into this?" Gunnar said. "Anything I should avoid?"

"Daisy is…" Arcade shrugged off his pack and set it by the foot of the bed. "Being in the Enclave didn't mean much to her. She just loved to fly. It broke her heart to be grounded."

Gunnar nodded thoughtfully. "I see. Is this likely to get her back in the air, getting these people back together?"

"I don't know yet. I suppose we'll have to see what happens."

Gunnar took a moment to comb his hair. "Nothing we can do about the road dust, but at least I'll look presentable," he said.

"Of course, Your Cleanliness," Arcade said, remembering Boone had once called Gunnar that. "Look, there's something else I should say."

"Okay, shoot."

"Bang. But seriously — " Arcade took a deep breath before continuing. "Since my mother died, Daisy's been the only woman in my life. She was the only other woman close to my father, too. She flew him out on over a dozen missions, including his last. I've always been close to Daisy."

"So don't be weird in front of her. As much as I can be." Gunnar looked directly at Arcade. "How bad does my eye look?"

"You still have a black eye." It had only been since Christmas Eve, after all. "But it doesn't look fresh by now. More green."

"More my color? Goes better with my hair?"

“Very fetching. It matches your eyes. Are you ready?"


	2. Mad About the Boy

"Arcade Gannon! It's about time you showed your face around here again." Daisy Whitman was older than Gunnar had expected, but then, if Arcade was in his mid-thirties, it made sense. "Your travels been going all right?"

"As well as can be expected," Arcade said. "Daisy, I'd like you to meet Gunnar Volk."

"Nice to meet you," Gunnar said, smiling and shaking her hand. 

"Looks like you've met with some trouble," she said. 

"I'm still here," Gunnar said. "Arcade asked me to talk to you. Can we talk somewhere private?"

~ ~ ~

Daisy had her own place at the motel as well, but, she said, she spent her days stripping down salvage for parts. "Engines, mostly. "The bits and pieces we take out are usually worth more than the whole thing put together."

"I see."

"Either of you boys want a drink?"

"No thank you, ma'am." Gunnar wished the windows could be unboarded for even a brief time, just to let some more light in. "Ms. Whitman, I'm not sure if Arcade's told you anything about me, or what I'm doing in New Vegas."

"I know of you, from the radio." Daisy opened a bottle of water for herself. "I've heard your broadcast and some of the other things people say, there and on the road."

"Oh." It had never occurred to Gunnar that he would be a topic of conversation outside of Vegas itself. "So you know that I'm trying to make Vegas a free state, if you will. I intend to fight the Legion and the NCR both."

"Sounds like a bold plan." Daisy took a long drink. "But how does that involve me? I'm just an old Vertibird pilot."

"I wouldn't say you were that old," Gunnar said. "How many missions?"

"Seventy-one, and only lost one chopper. Rotor malfunction over Klamath. Hard landing, but I walked away."

"Any you can walk away from is a good landing," Gunnar said, smiling. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "And that's a lot of flight time. Ms. Whitman, the war’s coming. We all know it. You and the others Arcade told me about, you all have valuable experience. I’d like all of you to support me, and if you do, we'll need your piloting skills."

"Straight and to the point, aren't you? And you told him everything about us?" she asked of Arcade, who nodded once. "Well, it's been a while since I've had my hands on the controls of a Vertibird. There's a chance I could crash us in the middle of Lake Mead."

"I can swim," Gunnar said. "But I don't think that'll happen."

"And you don't have any compunctions about the Enclave?" Daisy asked.

"Ma'am, I wasn't there and can't judge about that. A lot of people have done things, or had to do things, that were… let's say, questionable." Gunnar leaned back. "Arcade's a good person. I think you are too. I'd like to have good people alongside me in this."

They made some more small talk, Daisy asking about Gunnar's background and where he came from, and his plans for the future of New Vegas. Daisy studied him for one minute that stretched into two, then three. Finally she said, "If it'll get me once more chance to fly, count me in. I'll be there."

"Thank you so much, Ms. Whitman." Gunnar shook her hand. "I'll be getting with the others soon."

"I hope you can get all your forces together before the Legion hits," Daisy said. 

"I do too."

Arcade spoke up for the first time since he'd made the introductions. "Gunnar, how about you see what you want to take back from your room here? I want to check with Daisy about the others, and make sure my information's current."

"Sure, no problem. I'll see you later."

There was a little silence after Gunnar left the room.

“All right then, Arcade, since you know darned well your information’s current, what is it you wanted to say that you don’t want your young gentleman hearing?”

Arcade looked at Daisy. "He's… available. Single. Smart. A little strange sometimes, but…"

“And easy on the eyes, if you look past what someone did to his face. And judging from the way you sneak looks at him, you’re harboring a mighty powerful crush. So what’s the problem?”

Arcade shook his head, smiling. "Yes. Well, you know how I always keep past and present separate. I've been burned before, falling for someone and then telling them where I'm from. It didn't end well. You remember." 

“I remember. So you’re thinking you shouldn’t ask this one out… because he already knows your past?”

"He's been good about it, I know, but —"

“Don’t you think if he we’re going to reject you over that, he _already would have_?”

Arcade stared at her, then smacked his face with the palm of his hand. "I can't believe I didn't see that," he mumbled.

“With age comes wisdom, so they say.” Daisy winked broadly. “Now promise me you won’t leave it too long before you visit again, and I’ll let you go see about sweeping your bachelor off his feet.”

~ ~ ~

Sweeping Gunnar off his feet, indeed. Boone could've done it easily. Arcade? Possibly. That was the literal interpretation, of course. Emotionally might be more challenging. There should be more than just walking in and casually saying "Oh, by the way — "

What would work on someone who fell in love so easily and made it worthwhile?

_“So, now that we have a room to ourselves… want to talk about city planning?”_

Besides, it wasn't entirely civics and city planning that was the exciting part of this, or he could have attended any number of small scale meetings about that. No, it was because Gunnar was excited about it, and so into the whole thing that his eyes lit up and he got so animated and — 

\- well, maybe it might work.

It was just down the walkway to Gunnar's room. Arcade walked slowly, preparing his words, and saw the door was closed. He shouldn't need to knock before going in, but he did anyway. 

There was no answer.

He tried the handle; locked. Had Gunnar even made it back here? It hadn't been that long.

Arcade looked from the walkway over the inner courtyard and then out to the rest of Novac. Ah. That would be it. A caravan was here, and he could see Gunnar talking to someone. So he was setting up transport for his books and things to go back. 

Arcade leaned on the railing and watched, careful not to rest too heavily on the old metal. It looked like they were coming to an agreement. But Gunnar hadn't had time to pack anything yet, he realized. So unless the caravan was going to stay until tomorrow…

Now Gunnar was jogging back to the hotel, and he waved up at Arcade. Arcade waited until Gunnar bounded up the stairs. "They're heading to Vegas and they'll take my stuff to the Strip," he said breathlessly. "C'mon, let's pack!"

~ ~ ~

They spent the next few hours finding usable crates, loading them, carrying them down the suddenly rickety stairs and out the courtyard to the caravan. Daisy and some of the other residents came out to watch for a while.

"I'm starting to think this was a really bad idea," Arcade grunted, helping carry the second box out to the waiting caravan.

"You suggested it. Careful."

"I'm being careful. How many books did you have up there?"

"As many as I could collect in good shape." Gunnar was struggling with his end of the box. "Vegas needs a public library — "

"Not now — "

~ ~ ~

At last it was all packed and on its way north: books, clothing, tools, and assorted other stuff Gunnar had suddenly decided had to go into a crate.

"These caravans don't seem all that fast. We'll probably get back before they do," Gunnar said.

"You remember I said once, not to treat me like a pack brahmin?" Arcade said, rubbing the small of his back. "Ow. At least I'm not carrying it all the way back." 

"But there'll be a real bed tonight," Gunnar said. "No sleeping on the hard ground."

"That's true… You want to go for a walk?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Holidays to all my readers! :)


	3. I Want You, I Need You, I Love You

They went armed, because one never knew what dangers might be out there.

It was as nice a winter day as one was likely to find in the Mojave. It was warm in the sun, and the walk was a pleasant one. 

"Do you hear that?" Gunnar asked.

Arcade listened. The wind, more a breeze really. Distant artillery fire of some kind.

"When we got here this morning, birds were calling. It's so quiet in this world. I like that." 

"It's not quiet in Vegas."

"No, it isn't." Gunnar stopped and closed his eyes, tilting his face toward the sky. His hair shone red-gold in the sun. "And cities are fine. But this is nice. Peaceful." He opened his eyes and smiled at Arcade.

"I suppose it's nice. I don't know if I'd want to be a hermit, all alone." Arcade began walking again, aiming vaguely for a large mesquite, and Gunnar walked beside him.

"No, not that either. But it's nice to get this chance. It feels good. Like a balm on my soul."

"That's very poetic."

"It's how it feels. Physically. I know souls aren't tangible, but that's how it feels. Like relief." 

"I suppose you'll just have to travel out of Vegas now and then."

By now they'd reached the mesquite. Arcade walked under the highest branch, decorated with small bright red berries. They both looked up at it. "Secapalo," Gunnar said. "Silky flycatchers like to eat the berries, and — "

He stopped and faced Arcade, blushing slightly.

“Desert mistletoe,” Arcade said. “I hoped I recognized it correctly.”

“You did.” Gunnar swallowed hard.

He leaned toward Arcade, who leaned in as well, and they kissed: a soft, chaste kiss that fired Gunnar's blood, and he wished it could be more, but —

\- it ended, and how he wished Arcade could just, just, but at least he had this much, and — 

Gunnar was about to say "Thanks" when Arcade spoke first.

"I love you."

Gunnar stared at him. Had he heard right? The world felt like it might start spinning.

"Are you all right?" Arcade's eyes searched Gunnar's face. "Are you in a memory?"

"No, I, I — " Gunnar licked his lips. "I thought you, you didn't want to, to get involved."

"I changed my mind," Arcade said.

"Oh."

"Are you all right?" Arcade asked again, after another moment. 

"Yes, I'm — I'm fine." Gunnar put his hands on either side of Arcade's face and kissed him. Then he hugged Arcade tightly, burying his face in the crook of the man's neck. "I love you too," he mumbled. 

"I could tell." Arcade's arms were around him now, too. "Sorry it took so long."

"'S’okay."

"Better late than never?" Arcade suggested.

"Sure." Gunnar raised his head and looked into Arcade's eyes. "And when we get back to the 38, we'll try to get a couple more pictures. New ones. Me and you, with the tree."

"Rewriting Christmas morning?" Arcade smirked. "I like it. Why not."

"We'll just have to make sure your eye is better by then."

"Oh, shoot, you're right. I forgot about that," Gunnar laughed, and hugged him again. "I'm so happy. I love you."

"You love everyone," Arcade teased.

"Not true. I once shot a man for doing science wrong."

Arcade began to laugh, then searched Gunnar's face for sign of a joke. "You mean it."

"I do. I'm not proud of it. I lost my temper and I've regretted it ever since." Gunnar stepped back and brushed his fingers against a cluster of berries. 

"So that's… how many people have you killed?"

"I suppose that depends on how you count them?" Gunnar lifted one shoulder in a shrug. "Those trying to kill me, that's self defense. Those I murdered, or had to murder, or ordered their deaths… three."

"That sounds like an accurate count," Arcade said. "I trust the list won't grow too much larger."

"Mm. I hope so." Gunnar put his hands in his pockets. "Heavy lies the head that wears the crown."

"It's 'uneasy,' not 'heavy'."

Gunnar looked surprised, then grinned. "See, I knew there was a reason we get along so well!" He clapped a hand on Arcade's shoulder and pulled him close so their foreheads touched. It felt so good to — 

Arcade waited for something to happen, but Gunnar stared at nothing.

Arcade waited. This was certainly the closest he'd ever been to Gunnar during one of his memory episodes. After a time long enough to be noticeably awkward in company but not so long as to cause concern, Gunnar's vision focused and he was back to himself.

"Not too bad?" Arcade asked. 

"No. Not even anything solid. Just… Feeling." 

"I hope this isn't going to happen in bed," Arcade said.

"Me too." 

"If it happens, we'll deal with it," Arcade said. 

Gunnar searched Arcade's face for any indication of sarcasm, but didn't find it. 

"What?"

"Nothing." Gunnar hugged him again. "This is right. Everything's fine. For real."


	4. Bei Mir Bist du Schoen

They walked into Novac as night fell. "Let me guess, you boxed up all the food and sent it to Vegas."

"Nobody treats me like a pack brahmin. The more we sent on that caravan, the less we have to carry."

"Nice idea, Mr. Gannon, but what's for dinner?"

"Oh, I see how it is. Mr. King Under the Mountain is too good for iguana on a stick these days."

"If that's your idea of a dinner date, there's a perfectly good couch in that room."

But they smiled as they traded banter, and held hands.

"So what _is_ for dinner?" Gunnar asked as he unlocked the door to their room.

"Whatever we've got left over, unless we buy something locally."

"Like a frozen brahmin steak? That'll take hours." Gunnar went to see what might be left in the fridge. "Some dried apples, an old TV dinner… you know, when I first woke up again, after I died, I didn't remember what apples were."

"Really?"

"Yeah. So that alone tells me how bad off I was. And how much I've improved since then. Do you want the TV dinner?"

"Sure, I'll take it. Why do you call it that?"

"What?"

"A TV dinner."

"They were designed so you could eat them while watching TV." Gunnar found a can of Cram. Not the most appetizing stuff. Maybe the apples would help.

"…Like when we watched the movie?"

"Kind of, yeah. Same principle."

Gunnar plugged in a working hot plate, and added the dried apples and some water to a dented pot. "It was about convenience, not taste." He opened the Cram, gave it a quick sniff test, and cut it into slices. 

"Says the man eating two-hundred-year-old food."

"Says the other one."

"Okay, says the man eating food as old as he is."

"You got me there." Gunnar found a bottle of cola and a clean bowl and rinsed the Cram slices.

"What are you making?"

"I hope the apples will rehydrate properly — if I had juice or wine they'd do better, but I probably couldn't have them with wine — and Cram is mostly pork product, and pork and apples go together well. I have to rinse some of this salt off the Cram and I don't want to waste good water on it."

"Are you sure it'll be edible?"

"In theory, yes." Gunnar patted the slices dry and put them in with the apples. "All the individual elements are edible."

"If you're going with that logic, dirt, foot fungus and arsenic are all edible, but I wouldn't want to mix and eat them."

Gunnar sniffed. "Nice talk from a man who says he loves me."

"I do love you, and I love that you won't make me eat that." Arcade had nearly finished his own meal. "Or ask me to try it because 'it can't be that bad'."

"I'm not going to lie to you, most of the food in this time wouldn't appeal to me, but I hate going hungry." Gunnar stirred the stuff in the pot on the hot plate. "I never imagined I'd eat bugs and lizards before I went into the Vault."

"How do you know you didn't?"

Gunnar paused in the stirring. "I do know," he admitted at last. "I know I ate some things people didn't care for, blood sausage, pickled pigs' feet — "

"Please, I just ate." Arcade wiped off the fork with a scrap of cloth and replaced it in the drawer he'd taken it from. He leaned against the counter and watched Gunnar as the latter checked the taste of the food. "One time I saw a picture in a book of a family cooking together."

"Okay."

"And one of them wore an apron that read 'Kiss the Cook'."

"Yes, I saw that back then — " Gunnar paused as Arcade leaned over and kissed his cheek.

"Surprised?" Arcade asked.

"I am. But it's nice," Gunnar hurried to add. "I'm not used to it since I died."

"Yes, Boone didn't strike me as the openly affectionate type," Arcade said. "Whereas you are."

"This is true. But I need to eat dinner first."

~ ~ ~

"So… how's the food?"

"It's edible," Gunnar said. He'd eaten nearly all of it. "Still really salty."

"Next time you eat the packaged meal. Sorry, television dinner."

"TV dinner. And I might take you up on it."

"Given how hot it can get in the summer, salty isn't bad," Arcade said. 

"I know, I used to work in the Southwest. And one of them liked salty food."

"I've been meaning to ask you about them," Arcade said, a trifle casually.

"Like what?"

"There was you, of course, and then there's one that's blond, and one sort of like Boone. Correct?"

After a moment's contemplation, Gunnar answered. "…Yes."

"You were a remarkably lucky man."

"I know." Gunnar spoke quietly, looking at the now-empty bowl. 

“That’s a lot for someone to live up to.”

That made Gunnar smile. "I'm sure you'll give it your all," he said, standing to put the bowl on the counter. "At least now I know you're not sending mixed messages."

"What do you mean?"

"Oh, I'm not going to get involved, but I'm going to flirt nonstop! That kind of thing."

"Guilty as charged. Leave the dishes for tomorrow and come to bed." 

"What, I don't get to write first? I'm kidding," Gunnar said. "I'll write afterward. All the details. Reviews."

"I wish I knew if you were joking." 

"Don't worry." Gunnar sat on the bed and unlaced his boots. "I wouldn't put anything like that in there. Someone might read it. And while I do want people later on to read these, I don't want them to read anything that personal."

"That's a relief." Arcade paused before continuing. "No pajamas tonight?"

"Are you kidding? We were coming here to take stuff back home with us. I wasn't going to lug pajamas from Vegas just for that. Besides, I forgot this place isn't heated."

"It could get — "

"Arcade, we're already sharing a bed, you don't need to keep flirting." Gunnar lined up his boots neatly by the side of the bed.

"No, I don't have to. I thought you might like it."

"I'm good." Gunnar got under the covers. "Shut off the light?"

Without the weak overhead light, the room was pitch black, before their eyes adjusted and could see cracks of light through the boarded-up windows and around the edge of the door.

"You locked the door, right?"

"Arcade…"

"All I know is, Boone and the others are supposed to be far away, but if that door isn't locked, as soon as you and I get close, he's going to burst through that door."

Grumbling, Gunnar got out of bed and double-checked the door. "It's locked. Are you happy now?"

"I'll be happier when you're back in bed."

"What if it's a hit squad instead of Craig?"

"Don't tempt fate."

Gunnar got back into bed and snuggled up against Arcade. "I think even if I'd brought pajamas, it'd be too cold for them," he said. They were both still fully dressed.

"As I was saying, I can do something about that."

"I know. Give me a little time."

"Is something wrong?"

Gunnar shrugged against Arcade. "Nerves."

"You're nervous?" Arcade's voice was quiet, no longer brash. He put an arm around Gunnar's shoulders. "Is something wrong?"

Gunnar found Arcade's other hand and held it in his. "Just… don't rush me," he said. 

"Sure."

They lay in the dark without speaking for several minutes.

"I think this is the quietest you've been in some time," Arcade said at last.

Gunnar chuckled. "I suppose so. Just trying to clear my head."

"That's a good idea. There's a lot going on inside there." Arcade reached up to stroke Gunnar's hair, on the side opposite the scar. "I'd hate for you to work on zoning regulations while making out."

"C'mon, you know you'd love that," Gunnar teased. "City planning turns you on."

"That was just an excuse."

"I know. I figured you needed a way to save face. But it does turn you on."

"Well… not quite. The subject is interesting, but the speaker more so."

"Oh? So what if I start talking about progressive taxation?" Gunnar kissed Arcade on the cheek. "Or how it's necessary to help fund my expansive social improvement plans?" He kissed him again.

"I'd say you're being very silly. But if it means more of this — " another kiss — "then don't stop."


	5. Warmer Than a Whisper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a smut chapter :) Also, finally, some happiness.

Gunnar reached up to run his fingers through Arcade's hair as they kissed. 

Arcade returned the kisses and began working his way down Gunnar's jaw to his neck.

"Arcade."

"What?" Now was not the time for a pre-war information session.

"Have to tell you something."

"Yes?" Arcade asked impatiently.

Gunnar lifted Arcade's head so they were approximately face to face. "No pain," he whispered. "Nothing that causes pain or hurts. I mean it." His thumb played along Arcade's chin.

There was probably a dark story there, but for now Arcade kissed Gunnar's thumb. "Agreed." 

Then he kissed his thumb again, and began to lick it, and then took it into his mouth. Gunnar made a sharp intake of breath. 

Hearing that, and feeling Gunnar's legs squirm against him, that was more than encouraging. Arcade continued his demonstration of what he could do, then leaned forward to kiss Gunnar again.

This time Gunnar met him with open mouth and ready tongue, and then hooked one leg over Arcade's as they lay facing each other. 

"D'you think," Arcade said, when they broke for air, "maybe we should take our clothes off now?"

"Mmmmm…. no," Gunnar teased. "This is fine." But he pushed himself away a little bit anyway to pull off his ragged jumper. "I think I wore this inside out today. Hard to tell though."

Arcade laughed; same old Gunnar, talking at random. "I suppose that's as good an excuse as any for why your clothes are on wrong," he said, unbuttoning his own shirt.

"Oh, from making out, when you weren't supposed to? Does that really happen, clothes going back on wrong?"

"Yes, it does happen, if you're not paying attention," Arcade said. "It never happened to you?"

"I suppose I never had to rush. Not until… there was a woman, once.”

“Before anyone else.”

“Yes.”

"You prefer men?" By now they were both shirtless.

"I like both. But not… casually, I guess?" Gunnar inched closer to Arcade and embraced him. "It has to be real." 

"This is real," Arcade assured him, and then there was no more talking for a while.

Arcade lavished his full attention, hands and mouth, on Gunnar, who gently cued him in to more of this or less of that. Gunnar wasn't a noisy lover; but he wasn't silent, either, and he twisted his fingers in Arcade's hair and groaned loudly when he came. 

Arcade reached for the floor with one hand, found an empty bottle from earlier, and spat into it. Then he let Gunnar pull him up face to face. Gunnar kissed Arcade's nose and hazily chuckled. "Love you," he murmured, kissing him on the mouth this time.

"See? It's real," Arcade said. 

"Felt good after two hundred-some years," Gunnar said.

"You've only been awake a few months," Arcade teased.

"Felt good after that too."

“Wait, I thought you and Boone, uh…”

Gunnar shook his head and gently kissed Arcade yet again.

No wonder it hadn't worked out for them, even with Gunnar's rather deliberate approach to sex. However… "You'd better not fall asleep," Arcade warned.

"Trying." 

"Do you need to talk shop?"

"Very funny. That's your thing, not mine." Gunnar nuzzled Arcade's neck. “Of course, if you _want_ me to talk shop, I can probably dredge something up…but I think you'd probably rather I do something else, right?" Gunnar began kissing his way down Arcade's jaw to the base of his neck, light feathery touches.

"I, yes, if you're talking you can't be doing — that, yes," Arcade said, suddenly breathless as Gunnar's hands and mouth moved lower. Good _God,_ he was good — steady and practiced — it had been too long for himself, too, Arcade fleetingly thought. "There," he said, and Gunnar focused his attentions accordingly, and his hands — firm and gentle where they needed to be — hell, no wonder he'd ended up with multiple partners.

Arcade half curled around Gunnar, the delicious sensations running through his body. "Like that," he gasped, and there was more of it, and those fingers didn't stop, and and and — 

Arcade tensed and gasped again as he came, a wave crashing onto him, and he felt wonderfully dizzy as he relaxed back onto the bed. He stretched out his legs and shivered in a happy daze, as Gunnar spit into the bottle and then squirmed up to cuddle close, pulling the blanket up and over them. Arcade nestled into the embrace and promptly fell asleep.

~ ~ ~

Arcade woke to find himself lying naked next to another human being, and it took him a moment to remember how that had come about. When he did, he smiled to himself and hugged the still-sleeping Gunnar. Arcade's fingers rested on Gunnar's chest, and he eased them through the dark red hair there.

Thank you, Boone, for moving on, Arcade thought. Not that he would have minded Boone with himself and Gunnar. But that would never have happened, and now he had Gunnar all to himself.

~ ~ ~

The next time Arcade woke, it was because Gunnar was mumbling something against his shoulder. It didn't sound like English, but it wasn't Latin either. Arcade wasn't sure what it was; maybe just mumbling in his sleep. At any rate, though Arcade really didn't want to leave the bed and the rather pleasant position with Gunnar spooned up behind him, nature was calling and he couldn't put it off much longer.

"Wake up, sleepyhead," he said, and stretched.

"Hrmnm." Gunnar rolled to his other side and took most of the blankets with him.

"Come on now!" It was cold outside the blankets. Well, he had to get up anyway. Arcade got out of bed, found his clothes as quickly as possible, and hustled to the bathroom.

When he returned, now dressed, Gunnar was still asleep in the bed. "Come on," Arcade repeated. "We should get back to Vegas." With its very comfortable bed that could now be put to very good use, hot water in the shower, the fact that the shower _worked,_ and it was amazing how fast he'd not only gotten used to those things, but really didn't want to live without them.

"Is breakfast ready?" Gunnar yawned.

"I was supposed to do that?"

"It's my room. Besides, I provided dinner."

Arcade couldn't argue with that, so he grumbled his way down to the gift shop and bought some pre-war canned food and dry noodles. Gunnar was dressed by the time he returned, and they decided to save the noodles for later and eat the canned food first.

"You realize these are probably dog food," Gunnar said, sniffing at the contents of his can. The labels had disappeared long ago.

"You mean, dog meat?"

"No, food for dogs to eat."

"Dogs can and will eat garbage. Why would you have food in cans for them?"

"It's just a pre-war thing. And some of the dog food was advertised practically as good as human food. Select lean meats, healthy vegetables, stuff like that."

"So, stew." Arcade looked at a spoonful of his can's contents. Looked like stew to him. That was probably carrots, those chunks some kind of meat.

"Yeah. I remember as a kid, seeing some of the packages, rice and chicken, or lamb, stuff like that, and… it was a different time."

"I guess so. If this is dog food, those dogs ate better than most people now."

Gunnar finished his food. "We should take a look at the Brotherhood while we're here. Don't give me that look," he said, as Arcade grimaced. "You brought it up."

"I was hoping you'd forgotten."

"I didn't. Though it's just the two of us." Gunnar began packing. "I'd feel more comfortable if we had some more firepower."

"You use a grenade launcher and I have a laser rifle."

"And which of us is worse at aiming?" 

"You are," they said in unison. 

"You need a grenade launcher to hit a barn!" Arcade said.

"You threw a pulse grenade at a mole rat!" Gunnar countered.

"That has no bearing on my accuracy with a laser rifle!"

"Except that Boone had to teach you how to shoot and not blow the entire battery at once!"

"Is that meant to be innuendo?"

"Uh, no, actually."

"Okay then."

They glared at each other in mock fury, before Gunnar broke into laughter first. 

"Oh, you think that's funny?" Arcade growled, and the two ended up wrestling on the bed for a few minutes until they were both out of breath with laughter.

"Oh, God," Arcade panted, grinning at the ceiling. "This is amazing."

"Why, thank you," Gunnar answered, pitching his voice down to resemble a deity's. 

"Smartass."

"That too. Thanks for noticing!"

It felt wonderful, being in love.


	6. Buttons and Bows

Diary:  
 _  
…appears we're together now, and already I have a good feeling about it. (Besides the good feelings of being with someone and mutually in love! That sounds like it should be written in sparkly ink with little hearts, I admit, but it's true.) It's different than when I was with Craig — better. _

_We packed in the morning, though I think Arcade would've liked to stay longer, but honestly there really is a lot to take care of and not nearly enough time to deal with it. I need to get back to the 38 in time to intercept that caravan delivery, see how things went with the others and the Fiends, etc. etc.etc._

_Traveling today, we stopped at a trading post to take shelter during a radstorm. While we waited, Arcade fell asleep (I admit, the sound of rain will do that) so I talked with a nice young woman who I invited to join us on our travels. Arcade got snippy about it because he was asleep. In that respect, he's like Craig, when I invite people to come along with us._

_What I couldn't tell him is that Veronica is one of the Brotherhood. That alone should help me in my dealings with them. She doesn't exactly want it known, and of course Arcade doesn't exactly want *his* background known, so it all works out… sort of._

_V. is also… if she liked men, I would be in love with her. She's fascinating. Lively. Less foul-mouthed than Cass. Overall it's best that we stay friends (I have no idea whether A. would agree to anything more) and so I'll keep my thoughts to myself and just enjoy her platonic company. After all, it's not like I'm alone any more._

_V is traveling because she doesn't see eye to eye with the Brotherhood, who she thinks are too hidebound and reclusive (and I have to say, I see her point). Also she really wants to be feminine, instead of wearing the big shapeless robes._

_Had a memory just then. Something about dresses and hair bows, and… it's still confusing to me because I didn't even get any visuals this time, just flickers of… something._

_In Vegas V can find some new clothes — I can front her the money or even buy some for her — I think I'll do that, as a show of good faith and friendship. It shouldn't be hard to find something she likes, and it'll make her happy.  
_   
~ ~ ~

"How many more people are you going to take in?" Arcade asked, but he kept his voice low.

"Since I'm supporting everyone, I can add as many roommates as I think I can handle." Gunnar kept his own voice not quite so low. "Jeez, you're just like Craig about this, aren't you?"

"Am not," Arcade said, and regretted how childish it sounded. "I was just surprised by it, that's all."

"Cass can't be the only woman in the building. She's right about that. I hope she and Veronica get along."

At the moment, Veronica looked ready to die of happiness, trying on the best of the dresses available in the New Vegas shop. Some were old, some were new and just styled old and elegant. There were even some heels available. All vintage, Gunnar was sure of it; the newer shoes tended toward leather boots or woven sandals.

"I think they're not very alike, but I agree, she's easier to get along with than Cass." Arcade slouched against the wall.

"You should get something too," Gunnar said.

"Me? I have clothes, thank you. And we're not going back to the Ultra-Luxe."

"Not to eat, certainly." Gunnar ignored Arcade's sudden pallor. "But extra clothes, for… well, I suppose you're right. It's not like most of them are really necessary."

Something tickled Arcade's mind about that. Extra clothes. What was it… pajamas? Should he get some? Did they have any here that hadn't been worn by five generations of survivors? Arcade would settle for only three or four, if they at least held together and didn't scratch.

"So who's next?" Arcade asked. "One of the Great Khans? A super mutant? Maybe a Legionary. That would add some variety."

Gunnar looked at him, confused. "This isn't some kind of collect-the-set," he began, but then Veronica had her dress and shoes and even a clutch purse in good shape. If she hadn't been overcome by realization of the cost of what Gunnar had bought for her, she probably would have asked for things to go into the purse as well.

"I didn’t know how much all of this would cost," she said, a little uncertainly, as the clerk wrapped the purchases up in burlap and tied it with twine.

"It's okay. You can pay me back later, if you see a need," Gunnar said. "Otherwise it's yours to keep. Just because." 

~ ~ ~

Because making people happy was important. Making them happy for good reasons, of course. Some people liked being miserable, and some of them… what made them happy wouldn't sit well with other people. But buying some clothes for a young woman desperate to be feminine and pretty? That was easy, and Gunnar truly didn't expect any monetary or service return from it. _Just be happy._

Arcade was still unhappy about Veronica for some reason, though, and Gunnar tried to think what as they walked back to the 38. Because she was female? Sure, Gunnar would've loved to be more than friends with her, but he'd given up on that idea already. And it didn't hurt, seriously, to have some more women around. They saw things differently, and Gunnar could use all the advisers he could get at the moment, and probably for a few years into the future, if everything went well.

He'd ask Arcade about it later, when they were alone.


	7. Johnnie Fedora and Alice Bluebonnet

They arrived at the Lucky 38 at the same time as Boone, Cass and Raul. "Hell, hell, the gang's all here!" Cass sang out. "And you picked up another stray. Good thing we have enough beds."

Gunnar tried to remember how many beds were actually in the 38. He couldn't. Oh, crap, did he have to buy a bed before nightfall as well? "This is Veronica," he said, and introduced the rest of the group after they entered the casino-lobby.

"C'mon, Ronnie," Cass said. "I'll show you around. Fill you in." The elevator doors dinged open and the group crowded into it. "You went shopping?"

"Yes. Mr. Volk front-loaded me some things," Veronica said, clutching the burlap package to her chest. 

"It's a gift, Veronica," Gunnar said. "And you don't have to be formal."

"Last time they got formal, a man got hanged," Raul said.

"Way to kill the mood," Cass said, and faux-punched the ghoul in the shoulder.

"That's me. I coulda been a professional wet blanket, if my knee hadn't given out."

"How'd the Fiends lair pan out?" Gunnar asked.

"Went great. Killed everyone there. Good thing you didn't go," Boone said.

"Because it was a Vault?"

"Because they killed every Vault dweller in the place and it shows. All over the walls," Cass said.

The elevator doors opened and there was a momentary logjam as those in front all tried to exit at the same time. 

They figured it out and Cass took Veronica's arm. "This way. You stay here," he said, smiling and poking Boone's chest with a finger. He smiled back, and that was unusual enough that Gunnar knew something else had to be up.

"So… what else, while I was gone?" he asked, when the women had disappeared into the rooms, leaving the men in the lobby.

"They're an item now," Raul rasped.

"Who? The girls?" Arcade asked.

"No, menso. Boone and Cass." 

Boone had the decency to look only a little embarrassed.

"Really?" Gunnar blinked. He hadn't expected that at all.

"Yeah, well… we get along," Boone said.

Gunnar took a deep breath. "Hey, if you two are happy together, I'm good. Seriously." He clapped Boone's muscled arm to show goodwill. And Boone might improve now. Gunnar hoped Happy Boone would be better than Mopey Boone.

"Thanks. You?"

"Doing okay, yeah."

"Boss, think you can find another woman, maybe a ghoul this time, as long as you're playin' matchmaker?" Raul asked.

"No promises, but I'll keep it in mind." Gunnar wasn't sure if Raul was joking or serious, and chose to think the latter. "I know we all just got back, let's unpack, then I want to get everyone together about what happens next."

"Already crackin' the whip," Raul said, shaking his head. "I knew we should've stayed out longer."

"Can we order food from the Tops?" Arcade said.

"Of course not. We have food here."

Arcade muttered something nobody else could quite catch.

~ ~ ~

"Hey, uh… Craig?"

"Yeah?" Boone looked up from where he sat cross-legged on the double bed — of course, that would be his and Cass', now, wouldn't it, Gunnar thought — sharpening a knife. "What is it?"

Gunnar came closer. "I'm really glad you and Cass are getting along," he said, to use Boone's own words.

"Yeah. Me too." Boone shrugged. "Just kinda worked out between us. How about you and Gannon?"

Gunnar nodded. "It's good. Took him a while. I'd about given up. But we were right. You and me. About… this would be better for both of us," he added. Even if he did still miss Craig a little. 

"Yeah. Glad we were right about that." Boone looked like he might almost smile. "Thanks for not kicking us out."

Gunnar laughed. "I wouldn't kick you guys out. Not for that." He ran a hand over his hair; he should get a shower after the time on the road. "Besides, now I have to find a girlfriend each for Raul and Veronica."

Boone raised an eyebrow.

"I'm kidding," Gunnar said.

"Not buying it."

"Well, I'm not going to actively try to find people for them."

"You're serious about Veronica?"

"Oh… dammit." He'd overstepped. "Yeah. I shouldn't have said anything, though maybe she's already told Cass, I don't know. She told me, after all."

"Huh." Boone put away the sharpening stone and oil in its case. Gunnar felt he should know the word for the stone. His partner had sharpened knives often enough. Both of them. All of them? He pinched at the bridge of his nose, trying to make sense of the muddled memories.

"Anyway," Gunnar continued, still squinting his eyes closed hard, "food'll be ready in an hour. And I told Victor to watch out for a caravan bringing stuff up from the room in Novac. Whenever that shows up we'll have to unpack."


	8. The House I Live In

"What's your problem with Veronica?" Gunnar asked after dinner. He and Arcade were back to the presidential suite, and Gunnar was ready for a shower and bed. Everyone had their assignments for the next few days, and then there was New Year's, if anyone celebrated that these days, and…

"She's Brotherhood," Arcade said.

Gunnar paused in unlacing his shoes. Had he said something? He didn't think so, and Veronica hadn't said anything at dinner. He went to "confused" to stall for time. "What do you mean?"

"Those robes she wore before you got her the dress. That's Brotherhood. And I should know, since they hunted down the — people who raised me."

Oh.

"I hadn't thought of that," Gunnar admitted. It felt good to get shoes and socks off and flex his toes and know he didn't have to go anywhere else tonight.

"I know you didn't. But I did. This team has NCR and Brotherhood and I'm waiting to see who else might be interested in knowing of any Navarro survivors."

"Look, Boone isn't NCR any more."

"Not officially, but it's still part of him."

"What do you want me to do?" Gunnar looked for the soap, that bar that Craig had given him… how long ago was it now? It felt like months, but was probably just weeks. The Lucky 38 still had some stocks of old soap left, but this one smelled better. "Tell them to leave?"

Arcade didn't answer right away. 

"I accepted them. I accepted you. I talked with Veronica, a lot. She's not happy with the Brotherhood, and they're not real happy with her. You might notice she's on the outside, not holed up in the bunker with the rest of them."

Arcade still said nothing.

"Look, I don't want to kick anyone out," Gunnar said. "Nobody. Not you, not them. I invited everyone here, and part of that, to me, is making sure everyone gets along — "

"One big happy family?"

"I suppose you could say that, though I think I'd settle for people just being friends and not actively hostile toward each other." Gunnar rubbed his eye with the heel of one hand. He could sense a headache coming on. Best to try to sleep through it. "Arcade, please don't… jump to conclusions about this. I'll protect you."

"With that excellent dead-shot aim you're famous for?"

They both smiled at that.

"If you say so," Arcade sighed. "I guess we'll see how it plays out. But if anyone decides I'm an enemy — "

"I doubt it. Is there a bounty on your head I should know of?"

"Maybe not directly."

"And maybe you're borrowing too much trouble."

"I'm not," Arcade said sharply. "All my life I've hidden where I came from and who my family are. Not because I'm ashamed, but to keep us all safe. You haven't seen it. You slept through it. You can't know what it's been like."

_And who's this? He's a friend, away on business_

"I'm sorry," Gunnar said quietly. "I… I think I understand." He rubbed his forehead. The headache was increasing, on top of everything else. "I'll be careful about it. And I mean it, I'll protect you. What good is being ruler of New Vegas if I can't protect those I love?" He smiled, but Arcade didn't smile back.

"Look, I'm going to get the mail," Gunnar said. It would give them both a few minutes apart.

"I thought you were — "

"I know, but it's just downstairs. And if I don't get it it'll bother me until I do." Not quite true, but a suitable excuse. 

"Sure."


	9. Got a Bran' New Suit

Arcade knew very well that the mail could wait, but the space gave him time to collect himself. It wasn't good to have an argument just before bed. He took several deep breaths. Gunnar just didn't understand, really. That was all. His world had been a safer one all around. 

No, the obvious solution here was to get cuddling and maybe something more. After Gunnar showered, of course… Boone hadn't been far off when he'd called Gunnar 'his cleanliness'. Just having enough water on demand was a bit of a novelty here in the desert. Maybe in California and other places, having plenty of water was a given.

Arcade decided it wouldn't hurt to do much the same and clean up from the road. He left the nice-smelling soap of Gunnar’s, took a quick shower, toweled off, found a robe — clothes just for sleeping, it still sounded weird — and hello, what was this?

This drawer held clothes Arcade didn't recognize. Maybe they were left over from Mr. House or before the war. They had a faint chemical smell that Arcade couldn't place, but he guessed perhaps it was to keep insects away, because the clothing looked great except for a little dust. He lifted one article out. It was shimmery and drapey and felt incredibly soft. What was this material? Glossy black and shiny and in the same cut as that button-down pajama shirt Gunnar wore. Okay, so, pajamas. Expensive pajamas in some expensive fabric that Arcade was willing to bet hadn't been made since the bombs dropped. There was a matching pair of pants, and all the cuffs and hems had gold piping.

Wouldn't Gunnar be surprised to see him in this, Arcade thought, grinning. Put this on, drape himself over the bed, _Well, hello, ponix of the wasteland._ Then he frowned. Gunnar was sure taking his time fetching the mail.

Maybe he'd been sidetracked by one of the others wanting to talk. Or maybe he'd found something else demanding his attention. They were in the Lucky 38, so he couldn't have been attacked. Someone would have to be exceptionally good at breaking in to accomplish that.

Arcade wished he hadn't thought of that. 

After all, the Legion's usual squads had failed to do the trick. Maybe there was some specialist among Caesar's bully boys… No, Yes Man would certainly have noticed any intrusion. 

Very well. He'd just go look for him. Not because he was worried.

Arcade grimaced at putting those same dirty road clothes back on right after a shower, but so be it. He wasn't going to wander the Lucky 38 in a bathrobe. 

Start at the front door, see if he got the mail… he would've had to step outside to get the mail, because the mailbag was outside. Oh, wasn't that a lovely idea. Great going, everyone, to not notice a flaw in the security. Either someone else had to get the mail from now on, or, better yet, have Victor bring it inside, since he'd shoot anyone not authorized to come in if they tried anything.

Or they could just ignore the mail altogether, but Gunnar wouldn't do that, because this was a better method than people hanging around the front door for hours or days waiting to get in touch with him.

Arcade stepped out of the elevator at the casino. Halfway between the elevator and the front door, Gunnar was on the ground, with Veronica kneeling over him. Arcade broke into a run.

Veronica looked up at his approach. "Good timing, Doc. I found him like this — he's breathing but I don't know what happened." She held a palm-sized round mirror to Gunnar's nose and mouth.

Arcade knelt by Gunnar's still form. "How's his pulse?"

"That's why I used the mirror to check for life, Doc. I've never been able to find someone's pulse." Veronica sat back and watched intently as Arcade did a quick survey. Eyes open, pulse slow but steady, breathing, lights on but nobody home. Memory episode, Arcade thought. He looked to the scattered papers on the floor. He'd collected the mail, started walking to the elevator, had an episode, and fallen. 

"He doesn't have any obvious injuries," Veronica said, interrupting his thoughts. "No stab wounds, bullet wounds, no bleeding, not even a knot on his head. If someone did this directly you'd think they would've finished the job."

Veronica didn't know yet about the memories. Too damn many people already knew about them. "You'd think so," Arcade agreed. He rolled Gunnar onto his back.

"Poison, you think?"

Arcade spared a glance to her. "Why do you think that?" Besides, it couldn't hurt to find out how she thought.

"Maybe something in one of the letters." She gestured toward them. "Unless it was something in the food. If there was an incubation period."

Incubation was for infectious disease, but she had the right idea. Arcade didn't want to admit Gunnar's weakness, but someone else was likely to tell her before too long. "He doesn't have any broken bones. I think it's safe to move him." 

"You want me to fetch one of the others to help?"

Boone could carry him, sure. That would also let everyone know what had happened. "No, I think I can get him. I'll need you to get the elevator for me."

"Sure thing. I'll collect all this paper, too, with gloves on in case there's anything on them."

She actually had good ideas. Arcade got his arms under Gunnar and lifted him, staggering only a little at bringing up a limp body from the floor to chest height. "Let's get him upstairs first. Penthouse."


	10. The Note

Arcade lay Gunnar on the bed and tried to make him comfortable. Those open staring eyes didn't help. "Veronica, can you get a clean rag or cloth from the washroom — the cleanest one you can find — wet it, wring it out and bring it to me, please."

It was only a matter of time before someone found out about this. They could hardly keep Gunnar prisoner in the Lucky 38, only seen in public with an escort ready to whisk him away at the first sign of danger; but — Arcade looked up to see Veronica standing still, looking at her surroundings. First time she'd been up here, too. And what would one of the Brotherhood think of this place?

"He's got a lot of space up here," Veronica said.

"He's the new owner of Vegas," Arcade said. "This was the previous owner's home."

"I didn't think anyone lived like this." She looked to Arcade. "We — my family — they hide themselves away. That it's better and safer than dealing with outsiders."

"Considering what seems to have happened to most Vault dwellers, I can understand that," Arcade said. "The damp cloth, please."

"Yes. Sorry."

When she returned with it, Arcade gently placed the cloth over Gunnar's eyes. "To keep them from drying out," he explained. 

"Yeah, that's pretty creepy, how his eyes stayed open. So what happened to him?"

Arcade leveled his gaze at her. "This doesn't leave the building. You understand that?"

She met his look with a strong one of her own. "I said I'd tag along. There was something about him, you know? And he trusts me. Even bought me that dress." Which wasn't what she wore right now; it appeared Cass had lent her some jeans and a shirt until she could get something besides Brotherhood robes. "All just because he's a good person. I'm not going to turn on him now."

Arcade could threaten to expose her. He knew she was Brotherhood. The NCR wouldn't take kindly to her presence in their territory. Who knew what Boone would think. But Gunnar had already taken her in, and said he wouldn't kick her or Boone out. Everyone had to get along. And if anyone could make it happen, it was probably — probably — Gunnar. 

Because he was a good person.

Good people didn't threaten with blackmail. Probably.

Arcade took a deep breath and pushed his glasses back up his nose. "Do you listen to the radio? Mister New Vegas?"

"I've heard it when I stop at outposts, yes."

"Did you hear the news report of the courier who got shot?"

Veronica shook her head.

"That's fine." Arcade took Gunnar's wrist and checked his pulse again. This was a long episode, but he told himself he shouldn't worry yet. "He was shot in the head and left for dead — "

"That rhymes."

Arcade scowled at her, and Veronica raised her hands in appeasement. "Sorry," she said, "but he survived, obviously."

"He survived, but forgot everything. A doctor brought him back from the brink, and he's been remembering things in bits and pieces. But when he remembers, he goes into a trance, like this."

They both looked at the man they were discussing, lying on the bed as though he was just sleeping.

"Does this happen a lot?" Veronica asked.

Arcade shrugged. "It's without warning. It gets — he says 'triggered' — they happen when he hears or sees something that brings up a memory."

"Are they always this long?"

"…No."

Veronica pursed her lips. "If it's a long time, that's a lot of memories coming back. Right?"

"I… suppose so."

"And eventually he'll get all his memories back and he'll stop doing this."

Of course. Of course, at some point that would happen. This wouldn't be a lifelong problem. "I hope so," Arcade said fervently. "For all of Vegas."

"So what could he have seen or heard to make this happen?" Veronica looked at the haphazard pile of papers she'd collected. "Something in here?" She began leafing through them.

"It could be. Sometimes I think it just happens." While writing, for example.

Veronica paused, looking at something, then handed a worn, yellowed scrap of paper to Arcade without a word. The scrap was old enough to begin crumbling around the edges, and the jagged scrawl made his blood run cold.

[](https://laridian.smugmug.com/FNV/n-Hq8QXR/i-pMXWFXq/A)

_"I found your rings and your book. We will break the code. I will break you."_


	11. My Reverie

_He remembered…_

Waking up in a cold tomb underground. The Vault. He was the only one left. All the other sleep chambers gaped empty. Where had they gone? Why had he been left sleeping? What had happened?

He was alone, all alone, with the dark silence broken only by flickers of light from machines still operating, and fans gently circulating the air for those same machines.

He was alone. They hadn't made it in time to join him.

He had his wedding ring, and a slip of paper where to find a cache his partner had left for him, with supplies. It was supposed to be enough for two, because two were supposed to sleep…

He'd made his way outside, wondering if this was all a dream. A very prosaic dream if it was, because the mountains of his tomb still stood, and the desert below looked unchanged as well. When Rip van Winkle slept, he had woken to a world that changed and yet didn't change at the same time.

The king under the mountain, he thought dully, or a lone man who fell asleep because of fairies.

He made his way down the mountain and foothills and found a road, and now he knew he wasn't dreaming. The road was cracked and broken, weeds growing up through it. The air was clean and dry and hot. The land wasn't silent around him, but there were no sounds of mankind around, no hum of power lines or vehicles, no aircraft contrails. Only buzzing of insects and breezes, a raptor of some kind riding the thermals overhead.

When night came, and it came too fast, the darkness and solitude pressed down like a giant hand upon him. He didn't want to be so alone. He hadn't even taken a blanket from the Vault — hadn't known where to get one — hadn't thought to even look. He shivered in the dark and slept fitfully, waiting for morning to come, waiting to wake up, even if it meant waking up in the tomb again.

But when he awoke, he was still in the world. Still alive and alone.

~ ~ ~

He found the cache, and there was a shack nearby that someone had built in the past fifty or hundred years, of corrugated metal and old pieces of wall. To call it a shack was being kind to the structure, but it was still shelter if one was desperate.

The cache was untouched. It consisted of a footlocker, buried under the accumulation of desert dust inside a small cave, barely big enough for Gunnar to crawl into, and it took time to dig it out. Gunnar didn't bother dragging it out of the cave. Instead he opened the locker and looked inside. 

It held a book, protected against air and environment in a vacuum-sealed bag, and many small packets, equally sealed. Gunnar held one up and angled it to catch the light. Food. That made sense. This was the first cache, the one most needed, and as he looked through the locker's contents, he found water too, some tools, valuables for trade. All useful things to keep them alive until they reached the next cache or civilization.

To keep him alive. Not them. 

Gunnar lifted the book sealed in plastic and broke the vacuum seal. He knew this book. It would have the locations of the other caches, in code of course, in case someone else stumbled upon this one. And it would have any messages left for him from… from those who were now gone.

He suddenly set the book aside. He couldn't look at it right now.

He returned to the locker feeling more than a little detached, as though he were just a historian again, just investigating a cache, not something directly related to him. At the bottom, laid out and sealed in plastic bags, were the coats. Two coats, the handmade ones, the — 

Gunnar lifted the blue coat with shaking hands. The green one was his, but the blue one; he opened the bag and pulled the coat partway out. It had been less than two days since he'd woken up. Less than two days since he'd slept, from his view. He'd seen this coat the previous winter. 

He buried his face in the wool. It still smelled like Armas.

Gunnar wept, holding the coat and rocking a little in the tight confines of the cave, until at last he was exhausted, and he lay half in and half out of the locker with the coat over top of him, and eventually lost consciousness.

~ ~ ~

He woke to the sound of voices.

Gunnar lay still, reorienting himself. He was in the cave. If there were a cave-in he'd be trapped and dead, but for now he was just hidden away from the world. Just like in the Vault.

The voices continued. Rowdy. Drunken. Might not be English, might be English modified by time and slang, might be something else entirely, because it wasn't easy to understand at all. That might've been the drunkenness talking, too. In a way it didn't matter. He wasn't going to get up and meet them. Rowdy drunks would find him a nice target, even without the possibility of valuables to steal from him.

That must be their shack, or at least, they knew about it. They might even see him as a trespasser. 

So Gunnar lay still and listened, and shifted a little to ease the knot in his back from sleeping on top of uneven packages — 

The voices changed. One began pleading, then the pleading turned to screaming. The others laughed, and glass broke. Gunnar plugged his fingers into his ears and tried to recite anything in his head to try to drown it out. 

If he hadn't been alone, he and Armas would have taken everything, and been long gone. If he hadn't been alone. If. 

The noise seemed to go on a long time. Gunnar had no watch, nothing to note the passage of time in the cave, facing the back wall as he was. If he rolled over, would they hear anything? He had to assume they'd somehow notice. He had to stay still. He might not feel like life was worth living right now, but he didn't want to die like whoever was dying out there right now, slowly and in horrible ways.

Eventually the screaming stopped, and it sounded like the murderers settled in for the night. Gunnar could smell woodsmoke, and something cooking. He hoped it wasn't the victim, but at this point he wouldn't be surprised if it was. 

Wasn't this a wonderful world he'd come to? Ruined roads and sadistic murderers who might or might not be cannibals. 

He waited, and grew hungry and thirsty, but didn't move. The party at the shack continued for ages, and eventually Gunnar dozed a bit just because there was little else to do and fear and grief were exhausting. When he next woke, he was still hungry and thirsty, and he also needed to relieve himself. His brain might be depressed and full of despair, but the body kept going.

It was dark, and quiet; best to assume the murderers were asleep but not gone. 

If he tried to sneak out now… Gunnar stretched his stiff legs. He had no idea how many there were, if they'd set a guard, or where to run to in the dark. As unpleasant as it was, it was safest to stay here and see if they left in the morning.

It was a very long night. He'd slept already, and the many little annoyances magnified with time: there was food with him, and water, and he couldn't move enough to get to them without possibly making too much noise; and meanwhile they were not comfortable to lie on; and he recited prayers or the periodic table or lists of Hapsburg monarchs, anything to keep his mind busy and off the murderers outside or the loss of everyone he'd ever loved. It worked a little.

~ ~ ~

By the time the murderers-probably-cannibals left the next day, Gunnar had agony rather than despair on his mind, from waiting until he heard them leave, then giving them as much extra time as he could stand, in case they looked back.

 _You don't know what it's like to be hungry,_ he remembered Armas saying once. No, not real starvation hunger, but right now he thought he might be close to understanding.

Then he carefully squirmed out of the cave, waited for feeling to return to his side, lurched to his feet, confirmed the coast was clear and found a bush to water.

This was some kind of unique nightmare, all right, he thought, sighing in relief afterward. He couldn't stay here; this was a known place for them. He couldn't carry or drag a footlocker with him. He found some of the preserved food and water and ate, sitting next to the cave, thinking on what he should do next. Look for civilization? There might not be any. Look for anyone who wasn't likely to kill him? Probably.

To what point? Why go on? Because he was still alive? Because what was the point of going into that Vault if he just died after leaving it?

He did not look at the shack.

He couldn't take the footlocker. He could only take what he could carry. Some food and water. Would silver coins still be worth something? Would they be worth too much, and mark him as a rich target? What about anything else?

And when he found decent people, people he could trust to not kill him for fun or food, what then? What would he do? How would he even recognize decent people in this world?

Gunnar drew up his knees, wrapped his arms around them and bent his head. If they couldn't have come with him, they could have at least pulled him out, kept him with them. That way they'd all be together, instead of him being alone.

After a while he wiped his face on his sleeve and took a deep breath. He was still alive. He had to at least try to find people, and find out what had happened while he'd been in the Vault. Find out if he would fit in at all. 

~ ~ ~

He left most of the cache intact and reburied in the cave. He had clothes from the cache to replace the Vault jumpsuit, but he had to keep the Vault boots for now. The coats would also stay for now; they'd be great in wintertime but not this time of year, and he couldn't carry or wear both of them.

He filled a pack with food and water. There were no firearms in the cache, and anyway he wasn't sure he wanted to use one. He remembered both Armas and David teaching him how to shoot, and smiled a little at the memory. Both of them were much better shots than he was, but at least he could hit a barn.

He took some of the jewelry and coins, and the book he hadn't read yet. He had to get away from here first. The jumpsuit went on top of everything. Gunnar wished he had a hat, or sunblock. It was going to get hot out here very fast.

He found the murderers' tracks leading away from the shack, and set off in a direction perpendicular to that. His entire goal right now was just to get far enough away to feel safe. Then he could get his bearings and find shelter, people, or the next cache, depending on where he was. The book was supposed to direct him. He'd have to read it sooner or later.


	12. We Three (My Echo, My Shadow, and Me)

"Is he okay?"

Arcade wished he knew. "I think so. It's probably just a long memory." He looked again at the threat note. Which enemy had sent it? They could have been polite enough to identify themselves.

"Who sent it?" Veronica asked, echoing his thoughts.

"He has plenty of enemies," Arcade said. "My first thought is the Legion. They have the most to gain by putting him on the defensive. I doubt they knew this would happen; it's more to send a warning, I think."

"Random poison-pen letter, maybe?"

"Probably not." Arcade handed her the note. "That's very specific, mentioning the rings and the book, and breaking the code. I think whoever it is found something of Gunnar's, somewhere, and realized what they had."

"It's a group," Veronica said. "With a leader or a specific member with a grudge or mission against him. 'We will break the code. I will break you.'"

"There was a group of cannibals he ran out of Vegas, and hanged their leader," Arcade said. "They might try something like this. Except — they prided themselves on being sophisticated. They wouldn't send something like this." Scrawled on a paper scrap.

"Unless they're trying to throw off the investigation," Veronica said. "Should we tell the others he isn't waking up?"

"No!" Don't put everyone into a panic. Arcade collected himself. "He was like this one other time. After he had to execute someone. He's not a violent person, and it affected him."

"Would smelling salts help?"

Arcade stared at her. "They might! We've never had any when traveling, but maybe there's some here, in the casino."

"Okay." Veronica got to her feet. "Where do we look? And can he stay by himself while we do?"

"I think so. He's just… not in his body right now, but every time he's come out of it, he hasn't been violent or reacted badly. He just comes home, shall we say." Arcade stood as well. "I'll dim the lights. You search the suites, where everyone else stays. If they ask what you're looking for — "

"I'll say I want to know where the medical supplies are, in case of emergency," Veronica said. "And I don't want to disturb you since it's nighttime, and I want to know what we have. Best to be prepared."

Arcade found himself warming up to Veronica. "Then we've got a plan. Let's get searching."

~ ~ ~

This world was a form of Hell. Gunnar hadn't found anyone yet that he could safely approach. He'd run for his life more than once, and his first aid supplies had already taken a hit fixing a grazing shot across his arm. He wasn't starving, thanks to foraging for desert plants he knew were safe to eat, but he needed protein, and without a weapon, that left him with the ration bars he'd taken from the cache. Never mind that he wasn't sure he knew how to butcher a giant lizard or scorpion. Where were the normal things, rabbits, coyotes? 

Gunnar reached the next cache at last, wishing he'd had a pen or pencil or something to mark the days; it was all too easy to lose track. This cache was near a paved road, or what had been a road at one time, and near the New Sterling City exit. The old brick building was still mostly intact, and below it was the basement, full of spiders and other crawling things, but hidden there was the next cache.

The first cache had been placed before the bombs dropped. It held supplies for two people, Gunnar and Armas, but Gunnar didn't know why Armas hadn't been in the Vault. He hadn't gotten to the cache, either. Maybe this one held news.

News. Ha! Two-hundred-year-old news. 

And it did, in a sense. Besides the supplies left for him, there was a packet of letters and photographs. Some of them had deteriorated with age and time and temperature, despite the protection of the safe in the basement. But others…

Gunnar held one with a trembling hand. Himself and his partners, happy together. His heart ached to see it, to see them again, and his vision blurred as it sank home that this was it. They were dead, he knew that, but this picture of them, still alive and together…

He tucked the photo into the little book with the coded information on where to find the caches.

There were other photos, too, all from before the bombs. That made sense, he supposed; the opportunity to take or develop pictures must have disappeared soon afterward, if the chemicals and paper ran out, if anyone knew how to use them. It was something. It was more than most people here must have, assuming anyone cared about such things these days. 

He read the letters as he sat in the shade of the brick bunker. David had written them. Armas had been too afraid to go into the Vault. Gunnar remembered how the tall blond had never liked the idea. _But you couldn't go in, even for me?_ Gunnar had fallen for David first, but Armas had been around more, and Gunnar had always thought himself supremely lucky that all three of them had been able to live together like they had. Together as three.

But as much as Armas loved him back, the fear of the Vault was stronger.

_He wishes he could have taken you back from the Vault. If he had, then —_

Gunnar crumpled the letter and threw it into the desert. It didn't go very far. It was petty and stupid to do that, he knew. But it hurt. They'd always known it would be a long shot for David to reach the Vault in time, and the three of them had always assumed David would be stuck outside. Gunnar would survive and see if the world could be rebuilt; Armas would survive because he had experience in, well, surviving. He would keep Gunnar safe until — 

That had all gone to hell, hadn't it?

Gunnar got to his feet, walked to the crumpled letter and picked it up. He smoothed it out, returned to his place in the shade and kept reading. It was going to hurt, he knew that, but maybe they shouldn't have even tried for the Vault. They could have all stayed together. 

Because Armas and David had survived the bombs, and the terrible lean years after that, and they had children together, a family. The family Armas and Gunnar had always wanted. They'd named one of the kids after him. 

Gunnar leaned his head back against the weathered brick and closed his eyes. He should have stayed outside, waiting for Armas to get to the Vault. The Vault would have closed and left him outside, but he could have found Armas, they could have gone home, found David, and survived together.

He felt so tired. It was easy to wish for things to be different. But this was how things really were. He had supplies for a while, in a hostile landscape, and a few tokens for memories, and he was alone.

~ ~ ~

Once upon a time, wilderness had felt good to him. He had to deal with people regularly, he'd spent a lot of time in cities and libraries, and getting out to the wilderness had eased his soul. Like putting cream on a burn, he supposed. It helped him heal and recover.

But he had always had something to go back to. Now the wilderness was more openly hostile, from animals and people. 

He took the letters and some more supplies, left the cache otherwise intact, and kept going. He had a knife now, not that he trusted himself to use it in a fight for anything except desperate self-defense. Firearms wouldn't last for two hundred years in a cache, not without potential danger to himself, but a properly kept knife would last, and had. There was also, to his relief, a pack of pencils.

He made it to a town at last. It had been a town before the war, anyway; it was ruins now, like everything else, and Gunnar was already struggling to stay optimistic in the face of this new life. The ruins depressed him further: the ghosts of a life he still felt connected to. If someone had slept his way through the fall of the Roman Empire and woken in the early Middle Ages, this might have been how he felt upon seeing the remains of a once-mighty culture.

Still, it was a town, and that probably meant people who wouldn't try to shoot him on sight. He was still careful walking in, and he met a guard who demanded a bribe. Gunnar handed over one of the old silver dimes and that seemed good enough for now, but he'd have to figure out some means of support.

He spent another dime to get a run-down room in a "hotel" that should be demolished. Gunnar jammed the door so nobody would try to break in that way and made an effort to clean himself up, out of habit and to cling to something better.

He could get through this, he told himself. It didn't feel like it, but he could.

He would go north. North was where he lived — had lived — where his partners' descendants might still live. Maybe they would remember him. David had written that they told stories of the King under the Mountain, meaning him, after the story of Frederick the Great, and someday their absent father Gunnar Volk might return. Gunnar wasn't sure that would work, or if anyone would even believe it, much less think he was some legendary figure. And if they did, what would they think when they actually saw him?

Nevertheless, he would go north, because there might still be something for him there.

~ ~ ~

He walked, and walked, and foraged and sometimes bartered, and was always somewhat hungry but he survived. He had a purpose, after all: go north. Find the People. Figure things out after that.

He lucked into a job, a courier job, paying in bottlecaps (bottlecaps!) which was the new currency of all things, but it paid, and he would head north with a package, and that was a rare bright moment in otherwise dark times. People thought he was weird. Talked differently, and acted strange, and might not be right in the head. He tried to adjust as fast as he could, to keep from standing out so much.

And in the end, it didn't matter.

He waited, wrists and ankles bound, kneeling by the grave as two men dug it. It wasn’t very deep, he thought dully. Something would dig him out. But it would all be over soon. 

He hadn't seriously contemplated suicide since he'd woken in the Vault, because he wasn't sure if there was anything after this world. If this was all he had, he should still keep trying. Besides, suicide was a sin. He'd hate to risk everything in a possible afterlife when it was just as likely he'd get killed some other way. 

Which was about to happen. 

If there was an afterlife, he hoped he would see his partners there, and his mother — his father could rot in Hell — but his partners had never been fully comfortable with his religion, and maybe they had an afterlife of their own.

Or maybe there was nothing, in which case, at least the hurting would stop very shortly.

The guy in charge had an ugly suit — David would've cringed to see it — funny how Gunnar thought of such things now. _I hope I'll see you after this,_ he thought. Ugly Suit chain-smoked, dropping the butts into the gravel. Gunnar waited with the resignation of death. They'd ambushed him, taken the package and anything else from him, and here he was. That was that. He was never meant to be in this world, and now he'd leave it.

"What about these, boss?" one of the other men said, holding out Gunnar's other possessions for Ugly Suit to see. Ugly Suit looked at the rings, the last of the jewelry Gunnar had had for trade, and the wedding ring they'd taken off his finger. Then he looked idly through the book.

Ugly Suit shrugged. "You guys can keep 'em, divvy 'em up among yourselves," he said, waving his cigarette.

The grave was ready.

"Any last words, courier?" Ugly Suit asked, pulling a revolver from inside his coat.

Gunnar said nothing, just stared at him with tired eyes. He'd tried. He'd tried so hard. And for what?

"You wanna close your eyes, sport?"

Gunnar shook his head slightly. 

That seemed to unsettle Ugly Suit. "Okay, it's your funeral," he said, and pulled the trigger.


	13. Whispers in the Dark

"Found some," Arcade said, meeting with Veronica in the elevator lobby. "Let's hope it works."

Gunnar lay still on the bed where they'd left him. "I don't know how he'll react to this," Arcade said, "though nobody likes the smell of ammonia at the best of times."

"Understood. And he won't know where he is, since he collapsed downstairs. I can hold his arms."

"Thanks." Arcade took one of the ampules from the first aid kit he'd found in the boiler-room. "I hope these are still viable after all these years." He broke the interior glass tube and waved it near Gunnar's face.

~ ~ ~

No no _no_ not in the tomb again not _again_ — 

The sting in his nostrils made Gunnar jerk his face away. He had to get out, get out of the tube, he was pinned down — 

"Hey, hey," he heard a woman say. "You're safe. It's okay."

Who was that?

Arcade's voice. "Are you back among us now? You worried us there."

The pressure on his arms lifted, and Gunnar tried to sit up. Why was it so dark?

"Easy now," Arcade said. "You're in your own bed. Veronica, will you get the light?"

Now Gunnar could see, and he blinked against the world. The penthouse, his room, his bed — his and Arcade's — his and theirs — he shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What —?" he croaked.

"You had a memory. A long one." Arcade pressed a water bottle into his hand. "You've been away for quite a while." 

"Are you okay?" Veronica asked.

Gunnar drank some of the water first. "I'm here," he said. "I suppose that's good enough."

He remembered. Maybe not everything, but he remembered so much more now.

They were hovering over him. He understood that. Didn't know what to do about it, but he could understand it, at least. "Look, I — I'm fine, really. It's a lot to work through." He looked from one to the other. "What exactly happened?"

"I think you got the mail, found something that made you remember, you were walking at the time and fell down," Arcade said. "Only Veronica and I know what happened."

"I see." Now Gunnar could feel the soreness in his left shoulder. "Do I have another black eye?"

"What? No."

Good, he hadn't fallen flat on his face, though he probably would've noticed that by now if he had.

"If you'll excuse me," he said, and made himself walk-don't-run to the bathroom, where he could be alone and they probably wouldn't bother him for a little while. He turned on the shower to help send that message, and locked the door to be on the safe side. 

Wasn't it convenient that Mr. House had liked opulence even in his private bathroom? Most of the nice touches had faded or decayed, of course, but there was still a fancy armchair here and it was even in good condition. Gunnar had wondered why you would need an armchair in a bathroom, but here it was, and he sat in it and buried his face in his hands.

~ ~ ~

"If you're sure — " Veronica said.

"Yeah, I'm sure. He ought to be okay now. Needs to recover from the episode, but…"

"You're sure nobody knows about that? Other than the people here in this building?" she persisted.

Arcade was about to say "Of course", but realized: "Probably," he said. "As far as we know, nobody else knows."

"Because if it gets out that he's not well, that'll make it a lot harder to put through all these big plans of his."

"I know that. We all know that. So we're trusting you with that knowledge." Not that it could be helped; there wasn't much they could do if someone decided to go public with this knowledge.

"Thank you," Veronica said. She paused with her hand on the doorknob. "If you do need help, though — "

"I'll keep you in mind."

"Aaaand stop interrupting me." 

Arcade bit back a sarcastic reply. "I'm sorry," he said. She was right. Part of that was because he wanted to get her out of here. Even if there wasn't a chance for him to try out those fancy pajamas.

~ ~ ~

Gunnar returned from the bathroom long after Arcade fretted about wasted water. Even for someone obsessed with a level of cleanliness most citizens of the Mojave could only dream of, how much shower could one man take?

But eventually Gunnar did reappear, fully dressed, wet hair neatly combed back, and very somber. He seemed lost in his own thoughts.

"Good to see you again," Arcade said.

"Hm." Gunnar turned off the light. After a moment Arcade's eyes adjusted, with light coming in through the big floor-to-ceiling windows that hadn't yet been covered by the blackout curtains. He saw Gunnar's silhouette move to the window.

"Don't sit too close to the glass," Arcade said despite himself. "I'd hate for it to fall out and take you with it."

He heard Gunnar make a _hn_ sort of noise, but at least there was some faint amusement in it. That was good. Arcade walked to the window as well, and sat opposite Gunnar. They looked out over the city lights: neon, halogen, fluorescent, sodium, campfires. 

They sat in silence for a while, watching the lights. At last Arcade spoke. "Do you remember reading that note?"

Gunnar didn't turn away from the window. "The one threatening me? Yes."

"Any idea who it is?"

"No. But it doesn't matter. I have enough enemies. At least this one warned me."

"The rings and the book," Arcade continued. "Do you know what that's about?"

"Yes. I remember now. I remember just about everything I lost, I think." Gunnar shifted a little in place, and Arcade really hoped he wouldn't lean against the glass and perhaps discover that it would fall out and down to the street far below. "Whoever it is, they don't have anything that can hurt me more than their note just did."

"But this book — the code — " Arcade persisted.

"Even if they can figure it out, it's not like it'll lead them to some lost treasure or powerful weapon." Gunnar took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "Though it wouldn't hurt for them to think that. Keep them busy."

They sat in silence a little longer.

"I know you want to ask me more about it," Gunnar said, not looking at Arcade. "I don't feel like it right now."

"Fine. That's fine. At least now I know not to ask," Arcade said, deliberately lightly. "We can talk, or not talk, or go fix a slot machine and rig it to not pay out, or take a walk on the Strip. Or just sit and watch the lights blink."

They watched the lights.

After a while, Arcade realized that in front of the Lucky 38, the new ponix sign shone brightly. He hadn't paid much attention to it after it was installed; it was up high, like the rest of the bright signs, and having lived in Vegas for a while, he'd come to ignore all of them. Now the red bird blazed among the rest. 

Ponix, bird of renewal, he thought.

Leaving aside the change in pronunciation over the years — Arcade suspected he was one of a handful who knew it was once pronounced with an F sound — the ponix was not a peaceful symbol. Certainly, the bird was reborn, but out of the flames and ashes of its progenitor.

Gunnar had taken control from Mr. House and thrown everyone's plans into disorder when he announced his intention to rule New Vegas. And what would burn brightly in the process? 

"I'd better get to bed," Gunnar said, interrupting Arcade's thoughts. "Big plans to set in motion." He sounded tired. He had every right to be. 

"We," Arcade corrected. "We're in this together, right? I hate to think I've shared precious secrets with you only to be left behind when the going got tough."

"Tough love, is that it?" Gunnar said. He sounded a little more like his usual self.

They stood. "I don't know about tough love," Arcade said, putting an arm around Gunnar's shoulders. "You're not into that kind of thing, as I recall."

"That's right."

"But I can hardly become secretary of the interior if you don't win this war. So let's make sure you win it." Arcade began steering Gunnar toward the bed.

"So it's long shots and hard luck cases you're after," Gunnar said. He put his own arm around Arcade's waist. 

"Why else would I try to help the alkies and other unfortunates of Vegas get better, in the face of bars and casinos determined to keep them down?" 

"Masochism? Even I know there's only so far you can help people, and I like to think everyone starts out good." They stopped at the edge of the bed, and Gunnar began unbuttoning his shirt.

Should he mention the fancy pajamas? Arcade wondered. No, save them for a better night. New Year's Eve, maybe. Or — "When's your birthday?"

"January 30. I'll be… Well, I'm still older than you by the calendar."

"You cradle robber." January 30th. That was only about a month away. Maybe the war would be over by then. He'd try for New Year's.

"You're thirty-six, _Doctor_ Gannon."

"If we're going to pull rank, your doctor says get to bed already, _Doctor_ Volk."


	14. Too Romantic

Gunnar awoke during the night. He felt wide awake, and he listened to Arcade's breathing for a while, hoping sleep would return. It did not.

 _The King under the Mountain,_ he thought. He'd told the story as sort of a joke, originally, because he was going into the Vault to sleep for a couple hundred years. The legend following the death of Frederick the Great was that he slept under a mountain and would wake when his country was in dire need. In medieval times, that was popularly the Antichrist. Gunnar hardly thought of himself as a great king fighting ultimate evil. For one thing, nobody had remembered him when he'd woken up.

His eyes widened. That radio broadcast, announcing he was now ruler of New Vegas. He'd given a message "to his people in the north". _The King under the Mountain has awoken._ He'd thought he was just saying that to distract the Legion, and anyone else. Give them all something to chew on. Yet his subconscious must have brought that up for him, because he hadn't yet remembered that North was where his partners had lived, where their descendants might live.

…Boy, was that a can of worms to open up.

If they were still there, and if they had heard the message, and if they had understood its meaning, i.e. if the story had come down at all that Gunnar Volk would return one day, and if they believed in it… that was a whole lot of if's. Gunnar decided he'd be better off assuming nothing would happen there. He also hoped he hadn't sent the Legion off to harass unsuspecting northerners. Though the reputation of the Legion went pretty far; they were likely known there too.

It took him a long time to fall back asleep.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
_  
… I suppose the good news is that now I shouldn't have any more memory episodes. I hope not. At least it's all done now. I remember, for better or worse._

_Tomorrow morning — today, rather, in a few hours — I'll tell the team that I've remembered, and they shouldn't worry about that from now on. I imagine they'll be relieved. I would be if it was happening to one of them._

_I'll also get those photos taken with A and the Christmas tree. And add Veronica in there too. Still a couple of photos left, if I remember right? Then take that back to Vault 22 and ask if they'd be so kind as to develop all of them._

_I think it's safe for me to go into a Vault now. This is a way to test it._

_The caravan hasn't arrived yet._

_To do:  
Cass and Craig to investigate the Boomers  
Me — camera and Vault 22  
Raul —??  
Arcade — check in with Followers. Also how close is next of his relatives  
Veronica — ask her about best way to approach the BOS after the others are gone  
_  
~ ~ ~

Boone looked down at the camera in his hands. "That was the last picture," he said.

"Hope nobody blinked," Raul said.

"You want me to take this back to Vault 22?" Boone asked.

"I'll do it," Gunnar said, taking the camera from the sniper. "I need to see if I can."

"You're sure you won't have an episode?" Cass asked.

"I'm pretty sure. Like I told you all, I think I've got everything back now."

"What about the death threat?" That was Veronica.

He'd mentioned the note, but not that it had caused the problem last night. "All the Securitrons on the Strip are under my command," Gunnar said. "This is probably the safest place in the desert I could be." 

She looked impressed.

"Hey," Cass said, tapping Gunnar's arm. "Can I speak with you for a minute?"

She pulled him aside to a corner of the room. "You have to be careful out there, seriously."

"I will be."

"I mean it, Mister Mayor, or whatever title you have now." She searched his face. "I can't start up an elite caravan company if you take a bullet in the middle of the Strip."

"Cass…"

"I know, I know. Besides, you'd probably charge me plenty in taxes. How much do you remember now?"

"Of my past life? Just about everything, I think."

"Did you have a big sister?"

"No." What was she getting at?

"Figures. Okay, let me give you some big-sister advice."

"Cass, I'm older than you by a couple hundred years."

"But not in actual awake years, and not in real living." She put a hand on his shoulder. "People don't want to hear about your exes."

"What?"

"I mean, people you're ba — in a relationship with. See, I can't curse in front of an innocent kid brother. At least, not so much." She grinned, then grew serious again. "What I mean is, don't talk all about your priors with Four Eyes there. Nobody wants to hear who came before them. Get it?"

"But — "

"Gunn. Don't do it. If they're a saint, your current date can't live up to them, and if they're a bastard, nobody wants to really know that either. Okay?"

Gunnar nodded, not trusting himself to speak. 

"Good." She patted his shoulder. "Take care of yourself out there. We'll see you when we get back."

"Wait. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because you've been going on about them and saying how some of us remind you of them, and… It's creepy." She shrugged. "I'm sorry to break it to you like that, but it is."

He'd only wanted to remember. "I see. Thanks." What else could he say? He hadn't realized.

"Not a problem, bossman." She made finger guns at him and clicked her tongue. "Catch you later."


	15. Rumors Are Flying

Meanwhile, on the streets of New Vegas…

_[Text in various old-fashioned and circus fonts:  
NOTICE  
The MURDERER known as  
GUNNAR VOLK  
is also a  
Polygamist!  
Enclavist!  
Flitter!  
Ruthless and Depraved  
What he wants, he takes!  
Do not allow this madman to rule you!]_

"What th' fuck's this?" Cachino looked from the flyer on his desk to Tortelli standing in front of it.

"They're all over the Strip, Boss. Freeside, too. Everywhere."

"We all knew he was a blowfly, how the hell is he a polygamist?" Cachino lit a fresh cigarette. "And who the hell has the money to paper the city with these?"

~ ~ ~

Gunnar came out into the open air again from Vault 21. He'd made it through. It had been a touch claustrophobic, but no episodes and no attacks. That alone was a good sign. 

The photos would be ready after New Year's, and then —

"Mr. Volk?" an NCR MP was waiting for him just past Vault 21's property line.

"Yes?"

"The ambassador would like to see you."

Oh, crap, he kept forgetting about that. "I'd like to see the ambassador too, but I'm not prepared for a visit right now."

"I'm not asking when. The ambassador says now."

Gunnar looked at the MP with narrowed eyes. "I'm the ruler of New Vegas, officer, and it's Dr. Volk, not Mister. This is my city and the NCR is here by agreement." 

"So your answer is no?"

"It is." Two Securitrons idled nearby. There had to be a way for Gunnar to call them to his aid. "And the NCR has no jurisdiction on the Strip, so you can't haul me in. I'll contact the ambassador shortly about setting up a meeting."

~ ~ ~

He didn't have anywhere he could hold audiences, Gunnar realized, as he headed for home as fast as he could without appearing to rush. He wasn't about to let anyone into the Lucky 38, but he wasn't going into NCR territory by himself at this point. If they had him, they had the city. As soon as he stepped into their jurisdiction they could try something.

Wasn't paranoia grand.

The Tops, maybe? He doubted the NCR would consent to meeting out in the open, especially if they'd decided to take issue with him in some way.

He needed an audience chamber, one with a couple of Securitrons at minimum, where it was his turf and he could defend himself or get the hell out of the way as needed.

When Gunnar stopped to cross the road, he looked both ways — he couldn't help himself, even in this world where there weren't any vehicles to look out for — and saw MPs watching him, keeping a distance, but definitely following him. Were there more NCR on the streets than usual? Gunnar didn't think so, but…

Dammit. He should've prepared for something like this, against anyone. Easy to say that now, of course. Now he had to focus on what was happening and how to deal with it.

~ ~ ~

Arcade hadn't even gotten to the Old Mormon Fort before seeing the flyers and people discussing them. He'd promptly turned back for the 38 and met Cass and Boone there.

"Something's up," Cass said by way of a greeting. "Big smear campaign from the look of it." She showed Arcade the flyer.

"I saw them. They're everywhere. Where is he?"

"There," Boone said, pointing with his chin. Arcade looked to see Gunnar approaching the casino and looking determined. "You okay?" Boone asked.

"Fine, except that I don't know who's behind this," Gunnar said. "Is everyone here? I need a place near here to meet the NCR ambassador, privately, but not in the 38."


	16. Civilization

Boone, as former NCR, was sent to let the embassy know that Gunnar Volk would meet them in his temporary receiving office at the Tops, since the official one was still under construction. 

(Raul and Yes Man were to work on making that a true statement.)

Swank wasn't happy about one of his suites commandeered, but two Securitrons made sure nobody would try to violently interfere. 

"I'd prefer if you didn't listen in," Gunnar told Swank as the two took the elevator to the suite in question.

"Dr. Volk, I never even considered it."

"Five'll get you ten that you've already got something installed just for that purpose. Am I right?"

"I'm pleading the Fifth." Gunnar wondered if Swank even knew what that meant. "Will this be a regular habit of yours?"

"I hope not. I'll compensate you for the use of the suite, Swank."

"It's appreciated, Dr. Volk."

They exited onto the suite floor. Swank led Gunnar to the requested suite. "There's drinks and even some snacks in there. Your Securitrons fit through the door, which is why you got this place."

Gunnar walked in and checked the place out. Good enough for government work, he supposed. "Thanks. Can you have someone show them here when they get here?"

~ ~ ~

The ambassador himself hadn't come, of course. He probably figured much the same as Gunnar, that that would've been unwise to walk into someone else's territory. Instead he sent Georgiana Richards as his representative. "Doctor Volk." 

"Ms. Richards."

They shook hands. "Or are you the mayor now?" she asked.

Gunnar knew he needed to finalize a title, but "mayor" was an elected position in his experience. "Please have a seat, Ms. Richards. I'm sure the Ambassador didn't send you to find out my title." They both smiled, and neither of them meant it.

They sat. Georgiana Richards had brought her own NCR Rangers with her; otherwise it was her, Gunnar and the Securitrons. Gunnar had forgotten to offer a drink, but, he decided, this wasn't really a social call either.

"Thank you, Dr. Volk. I believe you come from Chicago?"

"It's where I studied, yes. Got my doctorate at the University there."

"And you come from a Vault."

Gunnar didn't think that had become common knowledge. "Excuse me?"

"Which Vault do you come from, Dr. Volk?"

"Is this an interrogation, Ms. Richards?"

"Simple questions, Dr. Volk. I'm sure you'd agree it's good to verify who you're dealing with, in these uncertain times." She leaned forward, hands folded. They were nice hands, Gunnar thought, looking at them: no calluses or broken nails or signs that they had ever labored. 

"Where do you come from, then?" he asked.

"Me? From California, of course." She smiled again. "If you don't come from a Vault, where do you come from, Dr. Volk?"

"This doesn't seem like a friendly way to get to know each other," Gunnar said.

"Maybe you've had some trouble remembering after you were shot in the head." She leaned back and rested her arms on those of the chair. "That you came from a Vault. You went into the Vault to help rebuild the world after enough time had passed. You're very good with technology and you understandably want to make the world a better place. A place suitable for others like you. Your people to the north, you called them."

"Get to the point, Ms. Richards." She shouldn't know some of this.

"The point is that you have a great deal in common with the Enclave, don't you, Dr. Volk? And I'm sure you're aware that the Enclave and the NCR are at war."

 _You bastard,_ Gunnar thought. _'I will break you.' This is how you're doing it, is it?_ He clenched his fists beneath the table.

"You'll forgive me for asking this, Ms. Richards, but who exactly are the Enclave?" Play dumb and hope they didn't know about his friends. "I thought the Republic was at war with the Legion."

Their smiles remained as sincere as ever. "Dr. Volk, you did make use of Republic archives recently to do your own research. You specifically looked at the early history of the New California Republic. I'd be very surprised if you somehow overlooked any mention of the Enclave."

"So you were at war with those people. Yes, I did wake up in a Vault, no, I'm not part of them, and I don't know anyone who is." No wonder Arcade had worried. Gunnar hadn't realized — oh. wait. It wasn't so much about existing Enclave refugees; it was likely that if they could prove he, Gunnar Volk, was Enclave, the NCR had an excuse to march into Vegas, fight him and take the city. "What you've told me sounds like rumors and gossip, not facts."

"Any account of Enclave activity is taken very seriously by the Republic, Dr. Volk," Ms. Richards said. 

"The Enclave were all wiped out in California a generation ago. You must consider them very dangerous indeed if you're willing to chase ghosts and accuse innocent people," Gunnar said. 

"They were and still are, Dr. Volk. Do I have your agreement that you will cooperate with our investigation?"

"What exactly are you investigating? Me? You're in my jurisdiction, Ms. Richards. I am the law in this city, and I do not give permission for your 'investigators' to operate here." There was precious little law out here, too. Dammit, he had to get this city functioning, and he couldn't do that if he had to deal with the Legion and now the NCR. "Besides," Gunnar raised a finger, "I'm not Enclave, never have been, and you won't find any real proof to these rumors. I have enemies, Ms. Richards, many of them, who undoubtedly want to see the NCR and New Vegas at each other's throats. I've given the NCR much good service, a lot of it without thought of reward. I'd think the NCR might consider that."

"Please, Dr. Volk. We do know of your service to the Republic. Also your disruptive presence at some of our camps, propositioning our soldiers and causing unnecessary alarms."

"I should hope that my service for the Republic outweighs any hearsay or inflated charges of outrageous behavior, all of which I deny." Damn you, Dr. Richards — "Do you know Dr. Alex Richards, Ms. Richards?" It was unlikely they were related; she was much duskier than the doctor at Camp Forlorn Hope. It wouldn't hurt to find out, though.

She shook her head. "Not personally, no, though I do know his name through your file."

"He propositioned me. I'd just like to set the record straight." I'm sorry, Alex, but you yourself said they needed doctors too badly there to worry about your personal life. I hope you were right.

"Noted." She wasn't taking notes, of course; perhaps she'd mark that in her report, or perhaps she wouldn't.

"Ms. Richards, if you have nothing else to say besides repeating slander and gossip?" Gunnar was more than ready to get out of here and set new plans in motion.

~ ~ ~

Swank removed the headset and turned to one of his subordinates, anxiously hovering nearby. "Send a message to both Marjorie and Cachino. Invite them here for happy hour. Doesn't matter what time it is, happy hour is now."


	17. In a Shanty in Old Shanty Town

All of Gunnar's team except Raul waited in the first-floor lobby of the Tops. No one knew what might happen, or what the NCR wanted to talk about. The ambassador's delegate left first, looking so secure she was downright smug.

She made eye contact with all of them except Veronica as she and her guards swept through and left the Tops. Arcade didn't like any of this, and her glance made the hairs stick up on the back of his neck. 

Then Gunnar made his own appearance from the elevator, jaw set and looking determined. "We'll talk at the 38," he said, before anyone could ask.

~ ~ ~

"That sonofabitch was after _you,_ " Boone growled.

"Which I told her, not in those words." Gunnar wanted to pace. He allowed himself to walk to the fridge and get a room temperature bottle of water from it. Raul had said the refrigerant to make them work was all gone. Iceboxes would return before refrigerators, if ever.

"There's no way you could be Enclave," Cass said. "You're too nice."

"Thanks, and ha ha." Gunnar twisted the cap off the bottle. He didn't look at Arcade. "Of course I'm not. But someone's dropped a bug in their ear about it."

"Probably whoever put up the flyers," Veronica said.

"The what?"

Gunnar hadn't seen them yet. He'd been too distracted. He stared at the flyer Veronica handed him. "Polygamist, Enclavist, flitter," he read. Polygamy? Well… that depended on how you interpreted it, but everyone from that time was all dead now so if anything, he was a widower multiple times over. "What's a flitter?"

"It's, er…"

"You know how insects visit flowers?" Arcade said. "Sucking down nectar from every flower they can reach? That's what it implies."

Gunnar narrowed his eyes and looked at the flyer again. "Someone has a lot of time on their hands and a real grudge against me," he said. Too nice, indeed. He'd shot a man for — maybe don't advertise that part, given "MURDERER" in large letters at the top of the flyer.

"So what do you do about it?" Cass asked, more quietly now.

"You said these are all over the city?" Gunnar asked.

"As far as we could tell."

"Who has the ability to print flyers like this?" He looked around at all of them.

"The NCR," Boone said. "Not sure if they do it here, but they can print things."

"Maybe the Legion?" Arcade said, rubbing his jaw. "They're not the most literate, but they might have a printing press somewhere."

Veronica looked about to say something, then shook her head. "That's all I can think of."

"So we're back where we started as far as 'who'," Gunnar said, looking down at the flyer again.

In theory anyone with a photocopier could've done it too, if one still worked, if it still had ink or toner or whatever it had used back in the day. But Gunnar didn't think so; red and black inks were easy to make. A working printing press and a lot of typefaces. 

He looked around at the people watching him. Counting himself and the absent Raul, he had six people. Could he afford to send someone to investigate this? 

"Okay," he announced. "I've got to talk to the Khans and the Boomers. I doubt either of them had anything to do with this — " He lifted the flyer — "but I need them on my side and to see if anyone's told them I'm some kind of freak to be avoided."

"If you leave Vegas, you'll be in NCR territory," Boone said. 

There was a moment of silence.

"I'll have to risk it. And try to go without being seen," Gunnar said. The NCR claimed all the area, and with the base at McCarran they had the power to back it up.

~ ~ ~

Marjorie and Cachino didn't worry about what time of day it was. They accepted drinks from Swank and the three settled themselves in a small comfortable study filled with books nobody had opened in Swank's lifetime.

"I'll get to the point," Swank said. "You've seen those flyers about Volk. Am I right?"

Cachino nodded. "I don't believe half of it. When the guy visited me he never looked below anyone's face."

"He doesn't show the behavior mentioned," Marjorie agreed, "but we've all met him in person, and dealt with him. This is obviously an attempt to discredit the man."

"So why'd you bring us here, Swank?" Cachino lit his cigar, a foul-smelling thing made locally. Old cigarettes might still be found, but not old cigars. "You got an interest in this?"

"Yeah, I do. You an' me, Cachino, Volk got us both to where we are now. Marjorie, he could've taken down your whole Family instead of leaving you to clean house like you did."

Marjorie sniffed coldly and set down her drink. "You're saying we owe him?"

"Maybe. But just now I got wind that someone's poking the Bear. The NCR believes this Enclave bullsh — malarkey," Swank corrected, in deference to Marjorie.

"That _is_ bullshit," Cachino said, then jerked as Marjorie stabbed him in the leg with the tip of her parasol. It was too blunt to break the cloth or skin, but it still stung. "Look, Marjorie, that's the truth. This guy isn't Enclave. He's cleaner than new-fallen snow in the mountains."

"Cachino, shut up and listen to me." Swank leaned forward in his seat. "The NCR is after Volk. And if they think he's Enclave, they might decide it's worth taking him into custody. And then what?"

Nobody spoke for a moment. Marjorie picked up her drink again and sipped it.

"He could hide in the Lucky 38 like old man House did," Cachino said, thinking aloud.

"He could, but the NCR knows where that is."

"California wants New Vegas," Marjorie said. "They always have. They've chafed under the agreement with Mr. House. If they held the city, it would be under their laws. Dr. Volk does have plans for New Vegas, as a free city, and plans to improve it. If he does, it would increase the population and potentially the number of people who would patronize your establishments."

"Not yours?" Swank said with a chuckle. Of course the White Gloves would keep the Ultra-Luxe exclusive. They didn't want the flood it with the lower classes.

She shook her head, smiling a little. "But the White Gloves could still benefit from his presence."

"Yeah… let's face it, House and Volk have left us alone," Cachino said. He tapped the ash from his cigar into a polished dark granite ashtray. "We can always deal with Volk later, if he makes any changes we don't like."

"But for now, we have to keep the NCR from taking over," Swank said. Good, they saw reason. "We can't outfight 'em. We have to keep 'em from thinking it's worth the fight."

"To counter these scurrilous rumors, perhaps?" Marjorie suggested. "To point out to all who patronize our establishments that these are lies, and damned lies at that?"

Cachino nodded. "I can have my staff talk him up. How he's a great guy, all that crap. Good for Vegas."

"And if the NCR attempts to depose him, they'll have an unhappy city to deal with," Swank finished. "And I think Volk honors his debts. We make it obvious that we're backing him. He'll remember that."

"And if he loses?" Cachino said.

"Then we've already got trouble with the Republic," Marjorie said, "who undoubtedly will look more closely into your recreational pharmaceutical trade, as well as how you acquire your employees."

"And what your Family used to get up to," Cachino shot back.

"Indeed. The Republic wouldn't look kindly on any of us. They'd take more money and reduce our freedoms. Volk may take more money, but I think he intends to use it to improve the city, not send it across the mountains to the pockets of brahmin barons. Money spent locally stays local."

"Then we're agreed?" Swank said. The other two nodded. They all shook hands. "Let's get to work."


	18. Why Don't You Believe Me

"Boss, I'm a repairman. You want me to fix things, you call me. You want me to get things built…" Raul scratched his patchy scalp.

Gunnar took a deep breath to steady himself. "I should've realized that. I need this done, thought you could do it…" He shrugged. "I'm sorry. I should've thought."

"At least you admit when you made a mistake, boss."

"Yeah. I still need this done…" Gunnar looked around at the 38's casino floor as if inspiration might suddenly appear. "I guess I can ask Yes Man what he can get done. And that frees you up."

"That it does. But look. I don't know how to do this, build a room. But someone else might."

Gunnar turned back to Raul. "You know someone?"

"No. But I can ask around. 'Course it wouldn't be free. Everybody's gotta eat."

"Of course." Gunnar wasn't sure what the going rate would even be for this kind of work. "Could you do that, Raul? Find someone to do this work? Of course I'd pay them."

"And I get to be the foreman?" Raul grinned, a hideous sight. "Now, that I could get behind, at my age. Sure, boss. You go on with what you're doin' and I'll take care of things here."

~ ~ ~

"Are you sure this is a good plan?" Cass asked.

"Maybe not, but it's the best I have. You two know what to do." Gunnar adjusted his helmet.

"Yep. Good luck and see you on the other side. Not literally, of course. That'd mean we're all dead." Cass grinned. Boone didn't.

~ ~ ~

Two hours later, Arcade, Veronica and Gunnar had put miles behind them. Mr. House had played it safe; there was indeed a back way out of the 38, just in case. Or maybe he'd forgotten about it. It had taken a lot of cleaning and moving old stuff just to get to it, once Yes Man had located it in the first place, and then playing with the security codes and picking the ancient locks.

"Do we know where we're going?" Veronica asked at last.

"Dead Rock Canyon."

"Red Rock Canyon," Arcade corrected. "It's where the Great Khans are."

"They could cause enough trouble to either side," Gunnar said, "and that's why I've got to convince them otherwise."

Arcade, as a Follower, would be viewed favorably by the Khans, they hoped. The Followers periodically tried to help out the Khans with literacy or medical care. And Veronica…

"I'm going with you," she'd said. "Neither one of you could punch your way out of a paper bag."

"Well, yes, that's why we've got guns — " Gunnar started.

"I've heard about that, too. Cass told me how you're both more likely to hit each other than your targets."

"Now, that's unfair," Arcade protested. "I'm much more likely to hit the target than he is."

Now they traveled under cover of night to avoid detection. 

"The Khans are a problem for more than us," Arcade now went on. "They're raiders and they don't like the NCR. That's how they've always lived — so they say — and the NCR has taken effort to stamp down on them when it suits its purpose."

"So they might side with us?" Veronica said.

"Might." Gunnar didn't like the idea of the Khans being around anyway, but he hardly wanted to exterminate them. "At least for now." They also dealt drugs, and overall Gunnar wanted them out of his territory.

He smiled to himself. His territory. Possessive of the Mojave, wasn't he? Well, why not? Start with Vegas and move outward. He couldn't rebuilt the whole world, no. But if he got control of Hoover Dam, he'd also control the power and water. He had to enforce law and order and keep bandits and raiders and other troublemakers down as much as possible. If he did that, and the Mojave became a safe place to live, people would come in on their own and rebuild it.

It all sounded so simple when he put it like that.

But if history taught anything, it was that nothing was ever so simple.

"What are these rings and the book?" Veronica asked, breaking into Gunnar's thoughts.

"Yes. Whoever sent that threat seems to think they're important," Arcade said.

"They… I had them when Benny shot me," Gunnar said. He'd looked Benny right in the eyes. Maybe that had distracted the Chairman enough to spoil his aim. How else could he miss an execution shot at such close distance?

And Benny had looked at him the same way, in Caesar's camp.

Someone had said something. "I'm sorry, what?" Gunnar asked.

"So he took them from you?" Veronica said.

"He…" Gunnar licked his lips. Dry. Should get some water, even though the desert night in winter was hardly warm. "He had some Khans with him. They took everything I had. It wasn't much. He said they could keep it, divide it among themselves." He took his canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a long drink.

"Probably as part of their payment," Arcade said.

Gunnar shook his head. "Don't think so." He recapped the canteen. "They were mad, later, when I found them, because he'd skipped out on them. Maybe he thought of it as payment, but they didn't seem to think so."

"Why didn't you ask them then? If you met them," Veronica said.

"Because I didn't realize I was missing anything."

"Could it be the Khans who sent that note?"

Gunnar looked to Arcade. "Maybe?"

"If they had them when you were shot, it makes sense they'd still have them now. But it's not guaranteed. Was there anything special about the rings, or the book? Some reason for them to keep them, or know they were yours?"

"The book is a list of locations," Gunnar said. "Places where supplies were cached for — for me. Armas and I were supposed to go into the Vault. Maybe David, too, but we didn't know if he'd make it." He paused to collect himself. "They set up caches in the area. I knew where the first one was. That one had the book — it's not big," he gestured the size with his hands, "about this size, and that has the locations. And letters from him. And photos."

"Assuming nobody else got into the caches, which is a big if, then they might benefit slightly from that," Arcade said, "but they mentioned a code."

"Several of the entries are written in other languages. David knew several. I knew some of them. Some of them are just gibberish to confuse anyone who might find the book before I did. And even the locations, you'd have to know how to read it. He had to do that sort of thing for a living."

How much to tell? How much was too much? The dead would still want their secrets respected. He had to respect those wishes even if they were long in the past. 

"What about the rings?" Arcade asked, interrupting Gunnar's thoughts.

"Trade goods, except one. We didn't know what might be valuable for money in the future, and we knew we'd need something, because paper money and credit cards would be worthless. So jewelry. Rings in particular are small, lightweight and would survive the years. They had some value to them when we bought them, but we didn't know what the value would be now."

"Still, it makes sense," Veronica said, "assuming they don't get you killed just for owning them."

"What was the one?" Arcade asked. "You said 'except one'."

"That was… my wedding ring." Gunnar tried to feel for it even now, through his gloves. 

Veronica nearly did a double take. "You're married?"

"Was. That was before I went into the Vault. I —" He stopped there. _Nobody wants to hear about your priors._ "Why're you surprised I was married?"

"Well, you know," Veronica stammered, "Sheepsh — men who — I mean — I just didn't think you had been."

"Men who like men, you mean?" Arcade said, a little frost in his voice to match the cold of the night. "Or were you going to say something else?"

"Well, you know what they say about the Legion — "

"No, I don't," Gunnar said innocently. "What do they say?"

"I think I'll stop digging this hole before it gets any deeper," Veronica said. "I just hadn't thought it. So what happened? You decided you liked guys instead?"

Gunnar took a deep breath. "That's kind of personal, isn't it?"

"…Yeah. I didn't think. Sorry."

"And I like both." He'd wanted to make it clear, but from the expression on her face, that hadn't worked.

“In the Br — my people don't allow men to marry men, or women to marry women."

"Your people could stand to loosen up," Arcade said. 

"I know." Veronica's voice went quiet. "If they don't break out of the old ways, I'm worried for them."

"You should be," Gunnar said. "History's full of examples of how a society, or culture, clings so stubbornly to its known ways and fails to adapt, that the society itself fails. It collapses, or is taken over, or dies out."

"Yeah, well… we're not big on history."


	19. What Are You Doing New Year's Eve

When they reached an old cabin, they stopped and settled in. Arcade built a small fire. "Hope nobody comes while we sleep."

"Only fools are out in the dead of night in winter," Veronica yawned. She slid into her bedroll. 

"Will you be warm enough?" Gunnar asked.

She side-eyed him. "Yeah, I'll be fine."

"I don't mean anything behind that. Just if you'll be okay."

"Sure." Veronica rolled from side to side until she got comfortable. 

"Not going to ask me if I’m warm enough?" Arcade murmured as he spooned up behind Gunnar.

"You'll be fine." Gunnar found Arcade's hand and held it.

After a moment, Arcade asked, "Whose ring was it?"

"Mine."

"I know that. I mean, was it David or Armas?"

Gunnar didn't answer immediately. He sensed Veronica, still awake, could probably hear them. At last he said, "I don’t remember.”

He sensed Arcade was about to ask another question, so he spoke first. "Let's get some sleep. It's been a long day."

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
 _  
Bad sleep, bad dreams. Don't remember them now but that's good._

_Great Khans aren't happy with me and I guess it's mutual. Something has to be done about them but I don't approve of the NCR's current method. They're poor and this is a terrible place to live so of course they have to turn to anything to survive, even if that's making and selling drugs (probably back to the NCR) to afford actual supplies. They need to get out of poverty somehow, but I can hardly give them enough cash yet either, not with war breathing down on us. I need to think on this & maybe discuss with A. Not sure how V feels about it all yet._

_One of the young Khans is going to apply at the Followers — honestly if he doesn't like life here I don't blame him, and if he can get out then I have to encourage that._

_Khans are allied with Legion right now and that's its own problem. I don't think they sent the note tho. Doesn't seem their style. Even if they were the last ones to have my book and rings._

_At least they didn't get everything. Most of it is back at the first cache. After the war is over — or if I'm on the run, I guess — I'll go pick it up.  
_  
~ ~ ~

He hadn't been able to take the rings with him then. David had had an actual wedding ring; Armas didn't wear one as such, but they'd still all had their mementos with them. The rings had gone into the cache for Gunnar and Armas to retrieve after waking up. Which meant David hadn't anticipated being able to wear it himself.

Gunnar shook his head and studied the Khan camp again. Poor as dirt, and this was bad dirt. Pretty, sure, but not suitable for agriculture, even in the Mojave. Was this the former Valley of Fire? Gunnar couldn't remember. It had been a long time, even when he was awake.

He hadn't taken off his helmet since they'd arrived at the Khans' camp, because there was an actual Legion officer here. Arcade and Veronica had gone into the camp first, to get the lay of the land, and discovered the Khans' and Legion alliance. Since Gunnar still had a bounty on his head with the Legion, it seemed prudent for the ruler of New Vegas to keep out of sight.

Arcade and Veronica were in the camp, scouting, looking things over, and, Gunnar hoped, making enough impression to swing the Khans away from the Legion. If they couldn't do that, he'd probably have to show up, but as yet he didn't know if there was more than the one officer. He couldn't afford a pitched battle.

Nor could he afford to be trapped here by the Khans if they decided to follow the officer's orders. So for now Gunnar stayed away from the camp and hoped he wouldn't be found. If he was, maybe his friends could escape. 

It gave him a lot of time alone to think, and to write, and doodle when he ran out of things to write. 

Gunnar hadn't drawn in a long time. Not since he woke up the first time, certainly, and not for a time before then. He was rusty at first, but this was just for him, just for fun. He drew plants, the landscape, his canteen, then everyone he could remember from his life before. He filled the page, and the next, and the next, caught up in his art and in bringing them back to life for a little while, in pencil.

Gunnar looked at his Pipboy for the time. It took a moment for the date to register in his mind: January 1, 2282. The start of a new year, if you followed the Gregorian calendar, or heralding the worst of winter weather to come if you went by seasons; but either way, he was in the Mojave desert with two companions who didn't seem to notice or care.

And maybe it didn't matter about the exact date. But it was still a new year, calendrically speaking. Gunnar hoped it would be a better one than the year he'd just left behind. Even with a war looming.


	20. Perfidia

"Armas!" Gunnar ran toward him. The Vault corridor was so long, but he'd recognize the silhouette anywhere. "Armas, come on, you can still make it!" So far to run, why was it so far?

"No." His voice carried down the long hall, farther than it ever should have. "You decided to enter the tomb. You will die there."

"Armas, no!" Gunnar slammed up against cold metal bars, a gate, keeping him from going farther. "Armas, come with me!"

"You chose death. I will stay alive, with David."

"You were supposed to go with me!" Gunnar cried. He reached through the bars, stretched his arm as far as he could.

Gunnar woke to the sound of gunfire. He'd dozed off against the rock, and it was dark now. Not too cold, considering; the rocks giving up whatever heat they'd picked up from the sun during the day. The gunfire had stopped. He hoped it wasn't Arcade and Veronica getting killed. He shouldn't have sent them on alone. He should've gone with them. Even if it meant risking himself, he shouldn't have — 

— well it could hardly be fixed now, whatever it was, could it? If all went well, it went well; if things had gone badly… 

He should have gone with them. Gunnar pulled a blanket from his pack and wrapped it around himself, then decided to get the sleeping bag too. He couldn't build a fire here, too close to the Khans' encampment, and he didn't know when, or if, he'd see his companions again. At least he could be warm while he worried.

Arcade and Veronica returned a little after dawn. Gunnar was thoroughly cold and wished there was a can of Sterno left after the apocalypse. Surely one little can of jellied fuel wouldn't be visible down in the camp, if he had one, right?

"Good to see you," he said, shivering. "I'm glad you're not dead."

"Us too," Veronica said. She sat on one side of him and Arcade on the other. "You heard the shots?"

"Yeah." Gunnar was glad for them on either side of him, helping warm him up. Safe and warm in the middle… "So what happened?" he asked, as Arcade pulled another blanket around the three of them.

"You sent two people most likely to piss off anyone Legion right into the Khans' camp," Arcade said. "And… we did."

"Did what?"

"Pissed off the Legion. Weren't you listening?"

"Maybe my ears are too cold from being alone up here all night," Gunnar said, exercising patience. "Why didn't you come back until now?"

"We couldn't leave right away," Veronica said. "Blondie's right, though. We did piss them off. Started asking the main guy questions, like, what's the status of women in the Legion, because everyone else says Legion women are property. He really squirmed about that one. Said that of course the Khans would be able to keep their own culture after the NCR is defeated. But some of the Khans remembered hearing the same thing, that I said, about women reduced to slaves. Didn't take long for half the Khans to start thinking twice about an alliance."

"And I asked about other tribes that had been assimilated into the Legion, what happened to them, where were they now. At first the Legion flunkies were only too happy to tell me how they'd all been crushed underfoot, until they realized where I was going with it — that the Khans were likely to end up in the same shackles."

"Okay, sowing dissent. Good." Gunnar began feeling warmer. "What about the gunfire?"

"Gotta skip ahead to the end of the story, huh?" Veronica said. "Okay. While Arcade started a big political discussion that almost came to blows — "

"She exaggerates. It was threatened, but not seriously."

" — I got into the Legate's stuff — "

"He's a frumentarius."

"Whose story _is_ this, Arcade?"

"The gunfire?" Gunnar suggested.

"Right. So I got into the guy's stuff and found a journal. Always good to know when someone keeps secrets that people can get into, right? I mean, no offense, but — "

"I understand," Gunnar said. "So he had these secrets, written in plain English?"

"It wasn't Latin, because I could read it," Veronica said. "And there was some real juicy stuff in there. Guy couldn't keep his thoughts to himself."

"Fortunately Papa Khan can read," Arcade began, when Gunnar interrupted: "Papa Khan?"

"That's what they call him." Arcade shrugged. "Seems a little weird to me too. So he can read. Veronica brought the journal out, open to a particularly interesting passage."

"Of course their Legion friend made a grab for it right away, which got mistaken for a possible attack on Papa Khan," Veronica took up the tale again, "and dear old Papa was able to read enough before things got settled that he got really pissed at Karl the Legionary. That's the guy's name."

"And next thing you know there's blood on the floor," Arcade finished. "So no, we couldn't just leave right after that. We had to sit and talk and talk and _talk_ about the Legion and what this meant and could we really believe that journal. The usual. The upshot is Papa is still kind of on the fence, because Karl may have been writing about his own beliefs instead of what Caesar has promised."

"So we came to get you," Veronica said, "and I know you'd rather sit in a smelly bug-infested Khan longhouse than up here in the cool fresh air."

"Honestly, I'll take my chances," Gunnar said. He was warm enough now, but would rather get indoors and eat some hot food of any kind. "You need me to convince him to at least not side with the Legion, right?"

"Right."


	21. Peace in the Valley

The longhouse was indeed smelly and bug-infested. It was also dark, which probably helped hide the dirt. Gunnar tried to breathe carefully. Maybe in summer it would be better, he rationalized, when you could open the doors and windows and air the place out. Then again, maybe they didn't do that either.

He introduced himself to Papa Khan as one chief to another, and they talked while they ate. They discussed the current state of political affairs, the shared history of the NCR and the Khans, the offer from the Legion, and at last, the uncertain future of the Khans themselves.

~ ~ ~

Diary:  
_  
If the NCR wins the upcoming battle, the Khans will be killed or driven off. I'm fairly certain of that, and they are too._

_If the Legion wins, the Khans will be absorbed into the Legion like every other tribe — the ones that live, that is._

_I don't know that I can say Vegas will win this battle. Vegas has to hold on. If I'm lucky the NCR won't attack me afterwards. Which is why I have to get everyone else on my side, if I can._

_And the Khans? What can they look forward to? I think Papa Khan realizes it. They can't support themselves here except by providing illegal substances, and while different members of different groups might partake of them, neither the Legion nor NCR nor Vegas is going to tolerate it after the war, whoever wins. So what do they do? Who do they turn to?_  
  
~ ~ ~

Gunnar closed his diary and looked across the valley. They were a squalid, filthy people in his opinion. It wasn't entirely their fault, having been reduced to this state, but they were. And he didn't want them in his city, not like this.

But they also deserved better. The future generations could improve. Not here, because nobody chose beautiful but barren Red Rock Canyon to make a mighty nation. 

He tucked the diary into his backpack and returned to the longhouse. Papa Khan sat talking with one of his advisers. Gunnar walked to them, waited for approval to approach closer, and took a seat.

"Papa Khan," he said, "since I'm a guest here, I think it only right that I repay your hospitality." Hot food including some weird meat which Gunnar had eaten without asking what it was, and a place to sleep out of the cold. 

"Yes? And what kind of payment is that? Gambling chips from your casinos?" Papa Khan said. 

Gunnar smiled and shook his head. "No, Great Khan. A story. A story you and your advisers and your people should hear. Do you know who the Great Khans are named for? I would tell you of the greatest Khan of all, Chinggis, and how he came from the humblest, lowest beginnings, and what he achieved."

~ ~ ~

It was his passion, Arcade thought. That was it.

Gunnar loved history and loved transmitting that information, to put it clinically. To him, the past was alive and fascinating, and he wanted to share that feeling with others. He was genuinely passionate about it and wanted others to be in awe of it too.

That was what helped. Arcade had read plenty of histories, some of them very dry, and he did enjoy them. But he didn't feel the need to share the good word with everyone. If Gunnar had wanted to found a cult, and really believed in some higher power, he probably could have gained followers, just because you couldn't fake that kind of inner… belief, or strength, or passion.

Because when he got going on something he really believed in — history or ethics or, yes, city planning — Gunnar's eyes lit up and he was so animated, and you couldn't help but watch.

The Great Khans watched too, spellbound. They'd never heard the story. Neither had Arcade or Veronica. Gunnar didn't just stand in front of them and talk. He moved, acted out some of the roles, explained things so everyone understood. Temujin, one of several children of a widow, the family thrown out of the tribe because of a power struggle. The family survived during the worst winters, eating whatever they could find and catch, and Temujin killed one of his own brothers for hoarding food. 

But the family did survive, and Gunnar told how Temujin went to claim the bride promised him years ago. Then he used Borte's dowry to gain fighting men, and from there fought and learned and fought again, absorbing anyone into his new tribe, no matter their bloodline or past, as long as they vowed loyalty to Temujin.

Arcade suspected some of this story was altered for the current audience, but that made sense. Tailor the lesson to the audience, he thought. He himself was content to watch Gunnar in his element, passionate in teaching the lesson.

Veronica leaned toward Arcade. "Is all history like this?" she murmured.

"When he tells it, yes."

By the time the story was over, Temujin was acknowledged as Chinggis Khan, ruler of all the plains, having built his new tribe on loyalty and merit rather than past and bloodline, having assimilated other tribes rather than destroying and murdering them, and founding an empire that stretched from the Eastern Sea to the setting sun. 

"When his family was thrown out," Gunnar said, his voice a little hoarse but no less enthusiastic than when he'd started, "do you think anyone thought this mother and her children would survive by themselves, eating mole rats and roots? Do you think anyone would have thought one of those boys would become ruler of a mighty empire, one that became rich and powerful? But they were not the Legion!" he warned. "Temujin knew firsthand what it was like to be cast out and oppressed. He did not treat his own people this way, or anyone who swore loyalty to him and to the nation. And having come from desperate situations, he knew the value of learning and knowledge. He prized artists and learned men and women. He did not cast away technology, but accepted whatever helped his people and helped to defend his people."

How much of that was real, Arcade wondered idly, resting his head on his hand as he watched and listened. It didn't matter. The Khans were still fired up with hope and possibilities. They could come back from their current state. They could recover, and fight, and be strong again.

~ ~ ~

"They took advantage of the Followers," Arcade insisted.

"I know." Gunnar had heard as much already, multiple times.

"They used our knowledge to start making drugs, and you're going to — "

"Give them another chance," Gunnar said. It was a little warmer today, good weather for going home. 

Arcade fell silent.

"You think telling a story will do that?" Veronica asked.

"It might give them hope. Might inspire them to become something better than what they currently are. I can't give them up to the NCR or the Legion."

"You don't want them around here, either," Arcade muttered.

Privately, Gunnar agreed on that, but it wouldn't do to say it out loud. "They might improve themselves. Shouldn't we try to improve the world around us?"

"Yes," Arcade said, drawing out the word. 

"Then that's what I'm doing. Maybe it won't work. But I hope it will."

"You like people, don't you? On average, I mean," Veronica said.

"I like to think most people are good, and everyone has the capacity to be better. Sometimes I'm wrong. But most of the time I think I'm right."

"You should join the Followers. They sound like your type."

"I already did. Arcade's supposed to be sort of a mentor for me." Gunnar looked to Arcade.

"Oh. Yes. Mentoring. Absolutely."

"You forgot about that, didn't you?" Gunnar teased.

"Not at all. This whole experience was a test. You passed."

Gunnar and Veronica laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to all my readers and especially those leaving comments, I appreciate each and every one of them :)


	22. Ain't We Got Fun

"I've got to head to McCarran and see what they want," Boone said. He pulled on one of his boots.

"Yeah, it's been fun having the place to ourselves, but we should get to work," Cass yawned. "I'll catch up with you at three." 

When Boone stepped out of the Lucky 38, Victor the Securitron was speaking to a woman who looked a little better than most Freesiders. 

"Sorry, pardner, but Dr. Volk isn't see anyone right now. If you've got a message you can leave it in that bag right there."

Nobody had left anything obviously sinister, like a bomb or a severed hand. Nothing that could definitely state "I'm here to cause trouble." Boone watched her scribble something on a paper scrap and place it in the bag. A request for help, Boone thought, needs a job, hard worker. He wasn't surprised that desperate people would come begging, just that it had taken so long.

Boone left on his mission, and the weak December morning sunshine shone down on the Strip.

Twenty minutes later a skinny teenage girl ran up to the casino. "Message for Mr. Volk," she said, dropping an envelope in the bag.

"Thanks, Pardner!" Victor said.

The girl ran off to where her customer waited. "Okay, I dropped it off. No questions. Everything's fine." 

The man grunted behind his checkered face scarf and handed her a small bag of caps. She took it and ran off. 

~ ~ ~

“Do you know what to do if someone starts a fistfight?”

Veronica's question came out of nowhere, so Gunnar, trying to determine the exact species and thus edibility of a cactus, took a moment to mentally change gears. "I'm sorry?"

“You only carry the two guns. Do you know how to defend yourself if someone gets the jump on you? Or in a brawl?

Gunnar looked around for Arcade, who was swearing and trying to pry apart a dead mole rat's jaws from a medical satchel. "No. Not really.”

“So you’ll just… roll over and let them hit you?”

“Of course not,” Gunnar said, nettled. “I don’t like fighting. I don’t even want to shoot anyone. But I’d rather —”

“Then maybe you need to learn at least a few basics. Like how to throw a punch.”

Veronica had a point, though Gunnar still didn’t hoped he didn’t need to learn. "Excuse me. Arcade? You need any help?"

"No! I've _got_ it!" Arcade snarled. 

"What is it about mole rats?" Gunnar wondered aloud, walking to help anyway.

"Yeah, those jaws lock up sometimes after death," Veronica said, following him. "I could probably punch it off the bag."

"Wouldn't that destroy the bag?"

"Maybe. Gunnar, do you have a crowbar?"

"Not on me, no."

Arcade glared up at both of them. "Do I amuse you? Do you find this entertaining?"

"Only if you make the mouth move and do the voice," Gunnar said.

Arcade looked at Gunnar as though the latter had lost his marbles. Veronica crouched by the bag. "Okay, let me see if I can help."

"We could use a grenade," Gunnar said. 

After Arcade had finally given up trying to chase Gunnar down and deliver some kind of punishment on him, and they'd called a truce and walked back to Veronica, she proudly showed them the doctor's bag, now free of mole rat except for the actual teeth still stuck in it.

"Where's the rest of it?" Arcade asked.

"I punched it off the bag. And now it's tenderized for dinner!"


	23. Punch, Brothers, Punch!

While Arcade prepared the food, muttering under his breath, Veronica gave Gunnar a lesson in basic fisticuffs.

“Ever wonder where that word came from?” she asked when they were finished. “Fisticuffs.”

“You strike with the fist, and a blow is also known as a cuff,” Gunnar said.

“…I guess you did wonder.” Veronica grinned. “You want to try it with the power glove?”

“It doesn’t just protect your hand?”

“No, it amplifies the punch. Here.” She’d removed the glove to give the lesson, and now handed it to him. “You fit it on — does it feel okay?”

“A little small.”

“You’ve got big hands, that’s why. You know what they say about a guy with big hands and big feet?”

Arcade raised both eyebrows but didn’t look up from turning the meat over the fire.

“He needs big gloves and big shoes?” Gunnar said innocently. Too innocently.

“Exactly!” Veronica grinned wider, playing along. “Flex your fingers — that’s right. Now, when you make a fist —”

~ ~ ~

By the time they called it quits, Gunnar felt more comfortable with the power glove. “It looks like it might’ve been part of a suit once?” he guessed, looking it over before handing it back to Veronica.

“Maybe. There’s left and right handed versions, so it could be. They’re just really useful if you think you’re going to get up close and personal. And it helps me get the aggression out. Nothing like punching to help me feel better sometimes.”

“Not people, I hope.”

“I don’t just punch people for fun, no! That would be weird. No, just the landscape. Holes in walls. Okay, maybe I use it to tell guys to back off when they get too handsy.”

~ ~ ~

"I'm still mad at you," Arcade said, halfway through the meal.

"That's fair."

"Where to now?" Veronica asked. Either she didn't know the grenade story or was pretending not to know for Arcade's sake. "Back to Vegas?"

"Not just yet. Arcade, if you're okay with it, we could visit some of your other family, if any of them are nearby."

"Meet the parents?" Veronica asked, smiling.

"They're dead," Arcade said, matter-of-factly, "but there are some others still around."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"Thank you. I'm sure you personally weren't involved."

Veronica looked at Arcade. "What do you mean?"

"Arcade doesn't socialize well sometimes," Gunnar said quickly. "And maybe we'll save that trip for another time." He'd forgotten the multiple secret pasts going on.

"We can still go," Veronica said. "I can sit outside if I have to."

"None of them are near here," Arcade said flatly.

"Mine are. I mean…" She looked to Gunnar, then seemed to decide. "My family are not very friendly to outsiders, but —"

"We know," Arcade said.

"You do? And I said stop interrupting me."

"Arcade?" Gunnar asked, hoping he wasn't about to witness a fight. His stomach felt uneasy at the thought.

"You keep saying it," Arcade said. "You keep telling us how they're isolationist and why you don't fit in. So who are they, anyway?"

Gunnar knew Arcade knew. But what would Veronica say? 

"Who are yours?" she threw back.

"They're not Brotherhood."

A silence settled over the little camp.

"He didn't tell me," Arcade went on, as Veronica's eyes flicked to Gunnar. "I recognized your robes."

"And the Brotherhood attacked your family?" she asked.

"Yes."

"I'm sorry," she said.

Arcade shook his head. "You weren't involved. And you're not all bad, for one of the Brotherhood."

Gunnar winced.

"Because I haven't attacked you?" she said.

"Because you're — "

"Because I don't fit the standard mold for Brotherhood?"

"No, because — "

"Or maybe it's because I punch people instead of shooting."

"No, that's not — "

"Oh, it's because I want to see the world, is it? Or because I worry that the Brotherhood is going to die if they don't change, because they're so hidebound in their own ways? And that I want to save them despite themselves?"

Arcade had fallen silent, and did not speak when Veronica stopped. Gunnar's stomach was in knots. He should say something. He should do something. 

But nobody said or did anything for several long moments.

"We're not far from them," Veronica said at last. "I want to talk to them. Try to convince them to come out of hiding."

"To what end?" Gunnar asked. Arcade was still stony-faced and silent. "To side with me?"

She shook her head. "I don't think they will. Maybe if you talked to them like you talked to the Khans, but the Brotherhood has a history already, and they stick to it like duct tape. If it's not in the Codex it's not what we should do."

"If they can't adapt, they'll die out," Gunnar said. "History shows that." Repeatedly.

"That's what I want to tell them. That while we sit and hide, and don't bring anyone in from outside, we're shrinking in number. Outside, here? There's more people than Brotherhood, sure. We have our technology, but it's getting older, and every time one of us dies, that's another loss we can't easily replace." She set aside her plate. She'd eaten every bite. "I need to convince the Elder."

"How?"

"I don't think he'll be swayed by your history talk. If I can show him that there's technology out here that we can use…"

"Like what?'

"There's this big tower, some kind of Helios Project, that we thought might be a superweapon. If we got hold of that, we'd have to come back out."

"It's… not a superweapon." Gunnar glanced at Arcade, who was keeping angrily quiet.

"It isn't?"

"No. I was there. It's a solar power generator." Gunnar hadn't cleaned his plate and now didn't feel like finishing. 

"Oh." Veronica looked crestfallen.

"I'm not sure a superweapon would really help," Gunnar said carefully.

"Look, you can't help but notice that the Brotherhood barely exists to people. Most people," Veronica corrected, looking to Arcade. "We're like an urban myth. No real presence on the Outside. We just don't adapt like we should. Used to be that all you needed to get your way was a suit of power armor and a laser rifle."

She sighed. "Now… people are armed and organized. They're not afraid. But we still stick to our old approach, because it's all we know."

Gunnar nodded. "It happens quite a bit. If something worked in the past, let's keep doing it. The problem is when people do it even when it obviously doesn't work any more."

"Yeah." Veronica stood and began to pace. "And we isolate ourselves, which makes it worse. Our training is top-notch, our technology gives us an advantage, but we're losing because we never make allies, only enemies. We don't recruit outsiders — we _refuse_ to recruit them — and…" She stopped and stared into the fire.

"Is there anything else we could bring to the Elder to change his mind?" Gunnar asked. "I did find some paladin patrols he was looking for. All dead."

"Oh. Wow. That… doesn't help, actually. Except to know what happened to them." Veronica began pacing again. "He's a stubborn old man, but when it comes down to it, he's got our best interests at heart. If he sees some indisputable sign we're on the wrong course, he won't ignore it. We need something that shows the Brotherhood will fail. Or that it can do better a different way."

Arcade stirred but didn't speak.

"The only thing that'd get his attention is technology," Veronica continued, half to herself. "Maybe Father Elijah had the right idea."

"What exactly are you looking to accomplish?" Gunnar asked. "You want to help the Brotherhood survive. How? By coming out of the bunkers and attacking everyone? Trying to dominate the Mojave just like the Legion or the NCR?"

"That's something I've been trying to figure out too. All these years, the Brotherhood has collected weapons technology. And for what?" Veronica spread her hands wide. "To keep it out of people's hands? That clearly hasn't worked. To defend ourselves? We can't compete with the NCR's numbers. Or the Legion's. Maybe not even the Khans, if there's more of them that I didn't see in that canyon. We're fighting a war for a lost cause. If we're going to survive, we have to find a role in society. Attract new members."

Arcade made a noise, sort of a "hmf." Veronica turned toward him. "Look at the Followers. You use your expertise to improve people's lives. You train them to be self-sufficient. That expertise cultivates respect and gratitude. Spreads their ideals. Draws talent to their cause." She now faced Gunnar. "You make friends like we make enemies."

"It helps," Gunnar admitted.

"But they don't know a fraction of what we know. If we took on their role, we could stand up to anyone. We wouldn't have to hide."

Gunnar raised his eyebrows. Veronica kept talking. "Okay. So the rangefinder for Helios is out. But there's still… what was it… Father Elijah was our Elder before McNamara. He sent Scribes out into the desert chasing any leads on lost technology. There were a few he only trusted me with. It's been a while…" She snapped her fingers. "The vegetation enhancer."

"What's that?"

"Farming technology. If I remember right, the NCR was looking into it too."

"If it's from Vault 22," Gunnar said, "I found that too."

"Ah, hell." Veronica threw her hands in the air, exasperated. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Well, I still have that data, actually. I copied it before it went to the NCR."

"You did?" Veronica's face lit up. "That's great! It's not a weapon, but it's self-sufficiency! If it works, that's part of our whole creed! We wouldn't have to scavenge any more."

Suddenly she sobered. "It _is_ just farming enhancement, right?"

"Well… yes. Mostly. Basically."

Veronica brightened again. "Good. Let's take that to him. I mean… You'll help, won't you?"

"I don't know that I want the Brotherhood threatening me too," Gunnar said. "Now or in future. I'd rather they learned how to live peaceably with everyone. I'd prefer _everyone_ to live peaceably if it were possible, but since it isn't, I'd like to minimize my potential enemies."

"I don't want to go to war with you," Veronica said earnestly. 

"You might not, but what about the Elder? Or whoever replaces him? I don't want the Brotherhood threatening me or my people." Gunnar kept his eyes on Veronica's.

"I know. And maybe it's a risk. But if you come with me, to show that you can be trusted?"

"Can I?"

"You're helping me, aren't you?"

"Some might say that what you're doing is wrong, dealing with outsiders."

"Yeah, well… they can go to hell. And I thought you believed that people are basically good?" Veronica sat down cross-legged by the fire.

"I do. I also have experience with the Brotherhood kidnapping me and my partners — friends — and holding them hostage to make me work for them. Arcade lost his family to the Brotherhood. You see my concerns?" Gunnar said.

Now Veronica crossed her arms as well. "So you won't help me."

"I didn't say that."

"Then speak plainly!"

Gunnar waited a few beats before he spoke. "I know you want to help your people. You don't want them to die out. Can you lead them?"

"What? No," she laughed. "I mean, maybe I could try, but I know they wouldn't listen to me. We follow the Codex. I'm the one they send Outside to keep me out of their hair."

"Then would they listen to you, even if you brought this back?"

"I… I think so. I think Elder McNamara would. He means well for us. He really does." She looked between both of them. "Please."

"You don't make a compelling case." Gunnar said. "You want me to help your people, my potential enemies and definitely enemies of my friends, when you yourself admit you're a bit of an outcast among your own people. It helps you and yours if you succeed, but how does it benefit me?

"Right now the Brotherhood are xenophobic and reclusive," Gunnar went on. They're not likely to support anyone except themselves. Even if I found their patrols, even if I brought them technology to improve self sufficiency, would that be enough to sway them?"

Silence fell over the camp.

Gunnar took a deep breath. "We'll go," he said, "and I hope I'm wrong. I hope they'll listen to you, and be willing to live peaceably with their neighbors."

"You won't regret it," Veronica said quickly. "You won't, I promise you. And thank you, thank you so much. I'll tell people to name their non-ugly children after you. Seriously."

Children had already been named after him, long ago, somewhere else. Gunnar wondered if they still were, somewhere to the north. Maybe it didn't matter.


	24. Worried Life Blues

Gunnar could tell Arcade was still sulking; the doctor hadn't said a word even after the discussion was over, and bedded down in his own sleeping bag. That was fine. Sometimes people needed a little space.

Gunnar stayed up and watched the embers as the fire died down, and eventually he too went to sleep.

~ ~ ~

"Why are you doing this." Arcade's lips brushed against Gunnar's ear, not to be come-hither but more to keep Veronica from hearing.

Gunnar had woken when Arcade finally moved closer to him during the night. It didn't seem like all was forgiven yet.

"You gave plenty of good reasons why we shouldn't go," Arcade went on. "Why are we going anyway?"

Gunnar opened his eyes to the stars above. "Because I have to try," he said, and turned to kiss Arcade's forehead.

"Because you can't say no, like when Boone got radsick from that ghoul?"

"Because I have to take the chance that it'll work out," Gunnar said, choosing to ignore Arcade's words. "If you don't want to come along, I understand." He kissed Arcade again.

Arcade was silent for a while, and Gunnar began drifting back to sleep, only to wake up when the other man spoke. "And if it doesn't work out?"

"Then at least I can say I tried. And I can walk away knowing that."

Arcade snuggled closer, placing his head on Gunnar's shoulder. Nothing more was said, and they returned to sleep.

~ ~ ~

"Good morning," Veronica yawned.

"Morning," Arcade replied. "Already got some coffee on?"

"Chicory, yeah."

"I'll drink it." Arcade ran a hand over his hair, trying to smooth it. He eased out of the sleeping bag. "C'mon, ponix, time to get up."

"Nrgh."

"So… you're talking again?" Veronica asked.

"Of course. I let you two have your talk, and I didn't interrupt."

"Thank you." She raised her mug in salute. "I was starting to think I'd have to punch some manners into you."

"Please." Arcade found his own mug, and Gunnar's, and checked them both for scorpions before filling them with hot chicory coffee. "I'd rather you didn't."

"Well, you know how to prevent that, don't you?" Veronica sipped the hot drink. "All's well?"

"I think so." Arcade raised his own mug to hers, and they clinked.

"Glad to see you two are getting along again," Gunnar said, sitting up. He rubbed the stubble on his jaw. He hadn't brought a safety razor with him when they'd snuck out of the Lucky 38; he should set one aside in his pack for this sort of thing in future.

"We are. I didn't expect it, but I'll take it," Veronica said. "I warmed up some tortillas, too, if you want one."

"Sure."

"So, you were just cranky and needed a lie-down?" Veronica asked Arcade.

"Something like that. But." Arcade held up a finger. "I'm not going back into the bunker. I'll find someplace to stay outside, and meet up with you afterwards. You can tell me how it went," he said to Gunnar.

"I suppose that's fair." If things went downhill, Arcade could at least get away.


	25. Heartaches by the Number

Gunnar would not say "I told you so".

He waited patiently while Veronica argued with Elder McNamara, about self sufficiency, about fading away, about how the Brotherhood would die if it did not adapt. The Elder held firm.

Gunnar turned over what he had found in his journeys of the Brotherhood patrols and agreed to keep looking for the others. He suspected, but did not say, that the remaining patrols were dead; there was a chance they had abandoned the Brotherhood, but Gunnar thought it unlikely. Even Veronica, who chafed under her society's rules and was set loose outside to stay out of the way, hadn't abandoned her people.

Gunnar stayed silent as Veronica and the Elder finished their discussion. McNamara dismissed them, and Veronica's shoulders slumped as she and Gunnar left the audience chamber to walk through the dim warren of tunnels. Suitable for rats or rabbits, Gunnar thought. A warren or a cage. But a cage can be comforting to someone who’s lived it in it all their life, who has always been protected inside it, even as it holds them prisoner.

"He…" Veronica began, then took a deep breath that was half a sniffle. Gunnar found a scrap of mostly clean fabric and handed it to her.

"Thanks, but I don't need it," she demurred. "I'm okay. Really. I'm okay."

 _I'm fine, really. Everything's fine._ "I know," Gunnar said. "You tried. You did your best."

"And it wasn't good enough. I mean, I _knew_ he wouldn't listen to _me._ That's why we went out of our way to find something that he couldn't ignore." Veronica rubbed her nose, and when she continued, her voice was heavy. "But it didn't make any difference."

"Could we find anything else to bring him?"

"No." She shook her head. "Our case wouldn't be any stronger if tomorrow they all died when their energy weapons backfired. I just didn't expect that. There was no getting through to him."

"Could you get someone else to listen to you?" There was that other Brotherhood Paladin, who wanted to overthrow McNamara… Gunnar had half forgotten about him. What was his name? Harding? Hardin. Maybe —

"It wouldn't matter. The Elder has final say. The hell of it is he's one of our most progressive members. If I can't get him to agree, it's hopeless."

Gunnar blinked at that. Progressive? Like a Dixiecrat.

…Nobody today knew what that even was.

He returned his attention to Veronica.

" — don't see them coming out in droves to support me."

"Then where does that leave you?"

They'd reached what Gunnar thought of as the 'gate', where they recovered their weapons before exiting the bunker. Veronica said nothing as they collected their belongings and went through the Vault-like door to the outer bunker. When it closed behind them, and they were left alone in the dusty outer bunker, Veronica turned to Gunnar. "I… I don't know if I can stay."

Gunnar nodded in sympathy.

They sat in the poorly lit dust for a little while without speaking. At last Veronica said, "Maybe it'd be better for everyone if I left. Spent my life… somewhere else."

"Don't you have parents here? You said they're family."

"They haven't been around for a long time. Dad was a Paladin, Mom was a Scribe. They died in the same battle trying to hold off the NCR from… something. I don't remember what it was. Guess it seemed important at the time." She wiped at her face with one hand. "After they passed, Father Elijah looked after me. The whole Brotherhood brought me up, really, but he made sure of it."

"Father Elijah?"

"Yeah, he, um… I never had a grandfather that I knew, but Elijah was what I'd imagine a grandfather to be. He was the elder who brought us to the Mojave from California. A wizard with technology, really. His mind just worked that way naturally. Learned a lot from him." Veronica picked at a loose thread on her pants.

"He's not here any more?"

"No. He just disappeared. Deserted the Brotherhood. That's…" Veronica's eyes met Gunnar's. "Anyway, Elder McNamara took over and took us all to Hidden Valley."

"So…"

"Yeah. No family here." She began picking at the thread again. "Which makes it a little easier. No parents, no mentor, no girlfriend. Nobody on the inside or the outside. Maybe it'd be better for everyone if I left."

"What if you stayed?"

"I could still do… whatever I can, until it comes to a slow… or sudden end." She sighed. "They may be a bunch of wooden conformists, but… I should stand by them."

"You don't sound very enthusiastic."

"Well, yeah." Veronica stood and began to pace. "I mean, if I left, there wouldn't be any coming back. Ever. When you're young you can choose to leave, but it's home, so most people don't."

"Mm." Gunnar knew of other, similar societies.

"I know sometimes I sound like I don't like them, but there's still something about our code that rings true to me. There's an honor to it." She spoke faster as she paced. "We're protecting people."

"Really?"

"Yes! Even if it's from themselves. It's a good cause."

"But not from raiders or other threats."

"Stop it!" She faced him, then calmed herself. "We've had people go rogue," she said in a quieter voice, "and start helping people. One chapter had a small civil war over it. We take our isolationism seriously. It's like we're just," she waved her hand, "protecting _ourselves_ from _them_ , and we'll outlive them and become humanity's sole heirs."

"Mm."

"I know what that sounds like."

"Mm." That seemed the safest way to respond. "And if you leave?"

"Well, if you leave the Brotherhood, you don't come back. Like I said. At least here I know everyone. For good or for bad. Out there… Well there's you, and all your… 'All your friends' sounds funny, doesn't it? Because they follow you and do what you say."

Gunnar stretched his legs in front of him. "You already know I accept you."

"Yeah. That's not what I expected. Some people really hate the Brotherhood. Like Arcade."

"He has good reason to. But he wouldn't murder you for it."

"Well." Veronica sat down again. "I don't know. I could stay with you, or… join the Followers, maybe. They actually help people. They rebuild the world, and they're okay with technology and sharing it. I could put my knowledge to some real use."

"That's true."

Veronica laughed a little. "That's right, you and Arcade are both Followers. You think you could set me up?" Then she sobered. "Except you're the Elder of New Vegas, or whatever your title is. You're not just a Follower."

"That's true too."

"And whatever happens in the war… if you survive…"

"If I survive it's because at least one of the other combatants is beaten back," Gunnar said. "If I don't survive, the NCR or the Legion has won. Either way, they'll come here."

"…Yeah." Veronica didn't sound very hopeful. "And both of them would try to destroy us. The only way to protect the Brotherhood is to make sure neither of them win." She looked to Gunnar, who said nothing. "So to protect my family — whether they want me or not — I have to hope you win."

Gunnar nodded.

Veronica took a deep breath. "Then I'm coming with you."

"To protect them?"

"Right. If I stay here, I'll wonder what's happening. With you, I'll know. Maybe even help turn the tide. And if you win, then I can try to come back here and talk sense into them."

Gunnar suspected they wouldn't listen later, either, but it wasn't his place to say so. "Then let's go," he said, getting to his feet. He waited as Veronica stood still. "Veronica?"

"Yeah. I'm good. Let's go."


	26. I'd Rather Be Right

The bunker door closed behind them. Veronica checked it to make sure it was closed all the way. "Back to Vegas?" she asked. 

"I suppose so." They'd have to meet up with Arcade first. He'd gone to a nearby Follower camp in the meantime. "At the very least, we have to leave this valley before dark. Those sandstorms — "

A trio of fully armed and armored Paladins walked from the back of the bunker. They carried their weapons at the ready. Gunnar slowly raised his hands, holding them in a conciliatory way. "Easy there, we're not breaking in — "

"We heard Veronica Santangelo talking with the Elder," said one of the Paladins, evidently the leader. The helmet modulated the voice; it could be man or woman in there, but the voice itself was deep and menacing. "We won't stand for this."

"Stand for what?" Veronica said, bristling, but Gunnar gestured for her to stay calm. "It won't be a problem," he said clearly. "She's leaving."

"Into exile?"

Veronica nodded, clenching her fists and then relaxing them. “Yes.”

"Good. Save us the trouble. But mark me well." The Paladin pointed to each of them. "Any hint of treachery or thought of return and we will erase the both of you from existence."

"She's leaving," Gunnar repeated. "Aren't you, Veronica?"

"Yes. I am." She held her head high.

"Then go. Take your sedition with you."

The Paladins did not stand down. Gunnar and Veronica walked past them. Gunnar wanted to get away quickly, but if they ran, the Paladins might see it as an excuse to open fire. _Shot while attempting to escape,_ he thought. It could still happen.

"Just keep walking," Veronica said, echoing his thoughts. "Don't look back."

"I didn't want to until you said that." Now the place between Gunnar's shoulderblades itched where he imagined crosshairs. 

They kept walking. When they'd left Hidden Valley behind them, Veronica looked back. "They're not following."

"Good."

"So now we meet up with Arcade at the camp?"

"No." 

"But — why?"

"I like to think the best of people, but I don't trust those Paladins."

"You're wrong. They won't try anything."

"I'm not risking it."

"So you're just leaving him behind?"

"No." Gunnar looked back now. Nothing and no one behind them. 

"He's going to meet up with us?"

"Probably." Depending on whether they were followed. "You realize that if I survive this, and rule this area, it'll be very hard for me to deal with the Brotherhood."

"I know. They can be real pumblechooks, but it'll be worth it."

She'd misinterpreted him. The Brotherhood had threatened him, and it didn't matter if they knew who he was. If they wanted to fade away in their warren, he would let them.

At least he could say he tried. And he wouldn't accept another threat to his city. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar wasn't sure if the Paladins were after them, but he didn't know how, exactly, to let Arcade know what had happened and why they hadn't returned to the Follower camp. So long before they'd reached that camp, he stopped.

"This is the way Arcade would know to look for us," he told Veronica. "If we don't show up, he'll come to look for us."

"I told you, we're not being followed."

"And while your Elder let you go, the Paladins seemed to have a different idea."

"You don't believe me." Veronica narrowed her eyes.

"I think you believe they wouldn't try it. I hope you're right. I really do. And we came here, and I gave you a copy of the vegetation data, and we tried. Now —"

Gunnar looked back the way they'd come. A puff of dust drifted on the wind and broke up. 

"Now we should find a place to hole up," he said. There weren't many options, but the nearby rock outcropping gave the best chance of both shelter and cover. 

"It could be someone else," Veronica pointed out, but she too jogged to the outcropping. "Like your Legion fans."

"Bite your tongue."

They rounded the outcropping and Gunnar collided with someone. 

He and the other person both fell backward. It was a raider camp. Three raiders, surprised by Gunnar and Veronica's arrival — Gunnar quickly raised his hands. "Peace! If you attack us you'll regret it."

The one female raider laughed. "We outnumber you, dustbuster," she jeered. This was correct, but only the one Gunnar had run into possessed an actual firearm. 

"But we're tougher and stronger than you Vipers," Veronica sneered back, her clenched power fist upraised. 

Vipers? Gunnar now saw their poorly tattooed snake insignias. "Look, let's call a truce. Someone's coming after us and neither us nor you need to get caught by them."

The one with the gun, probably the leader, looked wary. "Who's after you?" he asked. "And how many?"

"Brotherhood of Steel. Probably three, but all in power armor."

The Vipers stiffened, and the two looked to their leader. "Sirrusly? Those fuckers coming after you?" he asked.

Gunnar nodded. "We got away from them once, but they're still after us."

"Shit." The Viper leader scuffed his worn boot in the dirt. "Bounty on ya?"

"No. But they're following us." It was probably true. If it wasn't Brotherhood, who else could it be?


	27. Stone Cold Dead in the Market

The little Follower camp was barely big enough for the name, with a couple of guards, a few doctors and fewer beds. Arcade made himself useful as best he could. When he ran out of things to do, he sat with Dr. Alvarez and they talked about the current state of affairs in the Mojave, and what they'd heard on the radio and from other Followers.

"Everyone knows the war's on its way," Dr. Alvarez said. "Just a question of when. Even the raiders know it."

"Do you have a lot of trouble with raiders?" Arcade asked.

Dr. Alvarez waggled her fingers. "It depends. That's why we have the guards, after all. You saw the tower outside? You can get a good view of the area from up there."

They talked some more, and then Arcade went to the tower. You could indeed get a good view of the area, though not like from the dinosaur at Novac. "I guess if anyone comes near, you've got plenty of forewarning?" he asked the guard on duty.

"We do, though there's not enough of us to keep guard up here around the clock." The guard gestured at the desert. "But in the winter we don't get as many. People want to stay warm, not wander around in the cold."

"I don't blame them." Arcade looked in the direction he expected Gunnar to return, with or without Veronica. "What's that out there?"

The guard peered in the direction Arcade pointed, then took up binoculars. "Looks like… power armor? Who'd be out there in power armor?"

Arcade froze.

"Not headed here, though," the guard continued. "Which is good, because we couldn't fight them off. Hang on."

"What? What is it?"

"Another group out there. Can't quite make them out. Maybe four or five?"

Unless Gunnar had recruited several more people in the last twenty-four hours, that was some other group. "Who else could be out here?" Arcade asked.

"NCR, maybe, or raiders or Vipers, or, hell, could be anyone." The guard kept observing. "Looks like they're converging on the power armor. I wonder what'll happen."

~ ~ ~

"If they're after you, why shouldn't we just hand you over?" the Viper woman said. "Maybe get a coupla punkins out of it." Her fingers toyed with the handle of her machete. Even dulled and chipped, it could still do plenty of damage.

"Do you really think they'll just let you walk away either?" Gunnar pointed out. "You don't have a bargaining chip. They'll be happy to kill all of us."

The other Viper man had climbed the largest rock and peered over it, looking back the way Gunnar and Veronica came. "Summa’s deffa shangling here," he said. 

"Look, all of us are in danger," Gunnar said. Talking to the Vipers had saved himself and Veronica from an immediate firefight, but now every second was a delay they couldn't afford. "We don't have to travel together but we shouldn't kill each other over this when someone else wants to do it first."

"He's right," the Viper leader said to the other two. "But if they're shangling after him, I hope they keep at it and not us. Grab your shit. We gotta shin outta here."

~ ~ ~

There was no point to leaving the Follower camp. Arcade couldn't get there in time to stop what was going to happen — whatever would happen. From up here, he could watch, but even then, there wasn't much to see or do. Yet. 

He lowered the binoculars and rubbed his eyes. Arcade didn't like using binocs because he had to remove his glasses to do so, and switching back and forth gave him a headache after a while.

He blinked at the unfocused desert outside the camp. He didn't feel bad for not going to Hidden Valley; if anything, this proved he was right. Not that he would say I told you so to Gunnar. At least, not right away. Assuming he lived.

"Hey, what was that?" the guard next to him said.

Arcade brought the binoculars up to see. A big dust cloud, sure — then the sound of the explosion reached him, a dull low noise from this distance. What the hell was happening out there? Gunnar's "barn gun" couldn't make that big a blast.

~ ~ ~

There was no shrill scream of incoming attack, no sound of weapons firing. Just a sudden _whipwhipwhip_ and something fell out of the sky, a red cylinder, landing nearest the Viper man who'd just come down from the rock. Gunnar recognized it as dynamite, turned, and ran.

The ape brain shrieked _run, run_ and get to a tree, escape the danger, as the blast knocked him to the ground. Then everything sounded far away, and Gunnar's instinct was to get up and keep running, keep moving, but his body wouldn't immediately respond. 

In shock? he wondered. Doesn't matter. Yes it matters. Get going.

He pushed himself to his feet and looked around. _Instinct will get you killed_ went through his head, something he'd heard long ago. Where was Veronica? She too was staggering to her feet. What?, dynamite, _move!_

Gunnar grabbed her arm and began dragging her with him. He didn't know where the Vipers were. _Think, think_ he tried, competing with _run, run_. He looked back over his shoulder. Power armor lumbering around the rock. He unslung the barn gun from his back and fired.

~ ~ ~

Everyone at the outpost was in the tower now, watching with scopes or binoculars or whatever would give them a better view of the battle in the desert. "Glad they're not any closer," Dr. Alvarez said.

The distant sound of gunfire and explosions reached them.

"Whoever it is, they're loaded for yao guai," said a guard. 

"Yow gwai?" Arcade asked.

"A big one-headed ghoul-bear," the guard said. "There's some in Arizona."

"I wonder who they are," Dr. Alvarez said. "We'd better be on watch in case of any survivors."

Arcade could barely see figures scurrying about. The power armor had to be the Brotherhood, but there were at least ten other people out there in two rough groups. Who were they and what side were they on?

~ ~ ~

Fire, run, stagger as the ground shakes and nothing seems real and all too real — 

Another dynamite stick whipped through the air and hit one of the Brotherhood's armored shoulders, it almost bounced and then exploded — 

Viper leader firing, firing, then his body jerking and _flop_ to the ground — 

_Where is Veronica_ she's punching someone in brown leathers — 

Fire again, run again, get up, _what happened how —_ , something wrong with barn gun, drop and get Duzi — 

Viper woman hacking with her machete at the opened neck of disabled power armor — 

Gunnar fired the pistol at another man in brown leathers about to attack Veronica from behind, the man jerked in place, then Veronica spun and punched the man's head clean off his body — 

There wasn't time to think, just react _instinct will get you killed_ and Gunnar fired again, emptied the clip, fumbled to reload and saw one of the brown-leathers throw another lit stick of dynamite. It arced in a parabola to land at the feet of one of the Brotherhood, just as the Paladin yanked the Viper woman off its fellow and tossed her aside like a toy.

Gunnar turned and felt the explosion more than heard it, as the force knocked him to his knees.

Gunnar took off his pack and dug into it. There had to be something, anything. His fingers found a grenade. 

He pulled it out and yanked the pin _never use your teeth_ and threw it at the Paladins. He didn't even know what kind it was, but it had to do something.

He recognized the effect, though. EMP grenades were bad against mole rats, but great against power armor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art commission of Gunnar by [@gearlic](https://gearlic.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!  
> 


	28. It Happened in Sun Valley

"You're not going out there?" Dr. Alvarez asked.

"I have to," Arcade said. "There might be survivors." He hoped there would be. There had better be. He checked his medical supplies in his pack. 

"You can't go alone," Dr. Alvarez continued.

"Are you volunteering?"

She hesitated. "I won't risk my people against power armor."

"I wouldn't ask you to."

"If there's any threat, we're turning back."

"I understand. Thank you, Doctor."

~ ~ ~

The two remaining Paladins were _hors de combat_ , but the brown-leathers hadn't been affected. One sprinted to the nearest Paladin, two others approached Veronica and Gunnar, but not close enough that Veronica could reach them.

One of the brown-leathers shouted something and Gunnar realized he still couldn't hear clearly. He pointed to his own ear and shook his head.

The brown-leathers shrugged to each other. Veronica shouted something, pointing at the man who now crouched by a suit of power armor.

Gunnar took advantage of the moment to reload his pistol. This was going to end badly, but he had to keep trying. 

When Gunnar looked up, the man had moved to the other suit. The brown-leather leader and Veronica were yelling at each other, Veronica in anger, the leader still in control. 

Gunnar looked to the first Paladin. Dynamite, wiring, an egg timer… oh no.

He couldn't get there fast enough to do anything. Couldn't shoot to save anyone. "Veronica, run!" he shouted — she was between him and the Paladins.

She turned to look at him. The man who'd set the bombs now sprinted back to his companions. Gunnar brought up the Duzi and fired wildly. He thought he hit his target but the man didn't stop.

Veronica ran forward toward the brown-leathers, who brought up machetes against her.

 _"Veronica!"_ Gunnar screamed.

The bombs went off.

~ ~ ~

"What the hell was that?" one of the Follower guards said, startled. 

~ ~ ~

Gunnar stared up at the sky, blinking. He couldn't hear anything at all. Thoughts… slow thoughts. Hard to think. 

His head turned to the right. Gun. Pistol. His hand didn't feel like a part of him. But the fingers moved and picked up the gun. 

A shadow fell over him. Gunnar looked up. It wasn't Veronica. The man grinned and said something. Asked a question.

"I can't hear you," Gunnar said. He couldn’t hear himself.

The man grinned more. It wasn't friendly.

Gunnar brought up the pistol and fired directly into the grin.

Blood and pieces of flesh and bone fell onto Gunnar's face. He blinked again, then pushed himself up with his other arm and looked around.

Veronica and the remaining brown-leathers hadn't noticed or heard the gunshot. Three against one, armed with machetes, they couldn't get close or risk her punches, but they were wearing her down with feints and lunges, and she had to keep moving or risk one of them getting behind her. She didn't look good, maybe hurt.

Gunnar steadied his arm with his free hand and fired. He wasn't sure if he'd hit, but he had their attention now.

Veronica took the chance to get close to the nearest opponent, raining punches upon him. Gunnar's arms wavered but he fired again, twice, catching a brown-leather in the shoulder.

Brown-leather spun from the impact, fell down, Gunnar fired again, and again, that should do it, down, stay down, stay down!

Gunnar had walked forward without knowing it, and now stood over the dying man, blood draining into the thin desert soil _blood makes the grass grow_ and he stared down at the life fading before him. He stared for a while, then looked up. One brown-leather in the distance, running.

Gunnar brought up the Duzi, fired, kept firing, but after several shots realized there was no recoil. Empty. No more bullets _no mowe buwwets? asked Bugs_ and the man had escaped. One got away.

Gunnar stared for a while after him. He still couldn't hear, he felt numb inside, and his knee had begun to hurt. He looked down at it. The pant leg was torn and there was blood. He could still stand. Not broken. Other pains began to make themselves known. He touched his face and his fingers came away sticky with blood, but his or another man's, he didn't know.

Veronica.

He looked for her. She knelt by one of the suits of armor, wailing. He couldn't hear it, but he saw the tears making clean streaks through the blood and grime on her face.

He stumbled toward the suits. One was dead, the machete edge to the throat, courtesy of the Viper woman. The next one, helmet missing, head was a mess. The last one, by Veronica — 

"Veronica?" Gunnar asked. Not even the sound of his voice inside his own skull. Huh.

She said something, yelled at him, or maybe yelling her despair or sadness, it was hard to tell. Then she fell forward again, weeping. He could see from there that the explosion had torn apart the suit from the ground; no survivors.

Except himself and Veronica.

The Vipers.

His knee hurt more and more, and his balance was very off, but Gunnar looked at the Viper bodies. The one who'd been killed by the first stick of dynamite was in little pieces across the landscape. The leader was dead. 

The woman was still alive, barely, holding onto a hand. Maybe the hand of the dynamite-killed. Whose else would it be?

She was very pale, and her breathing shallow.

"I'm sorry," Gunnar said.

She spat words at him. He could tell some of the obscenities by how her mouth moved. 

"Do you need help?" he asked.

She kept talking, and he couldn't hear, and he should do something about that, but she was angry at him, maybe even at the world, and he understood that, because if he hadn't visited the Brotherhood, the Vipers would not be dead and dying now.

Gunnar felt tired, so tired, and suddenly thirsty.

He turned away and wobbled back to Veronica. "I'm sorry," he said again. She didn't answer. Maybe she couldn't hear him either. Maybe nobody could. Maybe they were ghosts now. Haunting a godforsaken patch of the Mojave would be a terrible afterlife.

Gunnar found himself half-sitting next to his pack. Water. Get water. Thirsty. That brown-leather could come back and they'd never hear him. He could kill them both. Gunnar made himself turn, and after years of effort he faced that way. Of course it would be dark soon, and scavengers would come, this was a feast of flesh for animals _do not think of men_ and treasure for looters. If anyone had heard. If anyone knew.

Get the water. Drink. Stay awake. Stay alive.

Gunnar hoped he could.


	29. I Had the Craziest Dream

Gunnar woke in a small dark cabin. 

He was tired and very thirsty, and he hurt all over. It was a dream, he thought dully, and I'm still in Goodsprings. It wasn't home in the north.

He began to reach for his head, for the bullet wound, and remembered he shouldn't touch it or he might black out. 

No. That was months ago. Wasn't it? What day was it?

The Pip-Boy on his other arm would know, but he'd have to move to find out. 

A shadow moved near him. Doc… what was his name. The doctor in Goodsprings. Doc Mitchell. Gunnar tried to croak the name as a question.

"Easy there." A woman's voice. Not Doc Mitchell. Not Sunny, either. Not Veronica, for that matter. 

A light came nearer, an old fuel lamp, and Gunnar could see the woman. He didn't remember her. He squinted against the light.

"Good to see you're awake," she said. "You're probably thirsty."

Gunnar nodded.

"I'm Dr. Alvarez," she said, lifting his head so he could drink from a length of plastic tube stuck like a straw into a bottle of water. "You're with the Followers now. Dr. Gannon tells me you're one of us, though you don't dress like it."

Arcade. It wasn't a dream. Good. Gunnar sucked down as much water as he could, then lay back again. "Where's Arcade?" he asked.

"Asleep after worrying over the two of you for hours."

"Where am I? Veronica?"

"Veronica's over there, on the other side of the room. All of you are here at our happy little Followers camp in the middle of nowhere. Well… not quite nowhere. Drink some more."

He did. "We lived?"

"Yes. Though we burned stimpacks to keep the two of you alive and whole enough to move up here. Those things are miracles, but they don't help with blood loss or infection. So you're resting here until we get some answers about what happened, and whether it's safe for us to stay here. That sort of thing."

She looked at him, waiting for an answer, but Gunnar just nodded. He had to get it into his own head first. Besides, things still sounded… fuzzy, even though he could hear, which, now that he was thinking clearly again, was a very good thing.

"How long has it been, since the battle?" Gunnar asked. 

"Probably… twenty-four hours? You and Veronica were holding on when we found you just after dark. We stayed there, brought you back, and it's afternoon now. Not surprising that you've needed this time to recover, though you did wake up once or twice."

He must've been bad off if it had been that long. Stimpacks for the win. Arcade had said once, and it was true, you couldn't make them any more, not like the old days, and they were right. But thanks to them, he was alive now.

"I'm hungry," he said, because he realized he was.

"Good. I'll get you some soup. You did have some, earlier, do you remember? No? That's fine. I'm not sure how awake you were then."

He and Veronica were alive. That was good. Arcade was here and, for the moment, they were safe. Good. He'd have to talk to both his friends when he felt better, but that would wait.

He drank some soup and went back to sleep.

~ ~ ~

It was dark and cold and the animals were on the edge of the dark, some with wings, some on four or more legs, some on two. They wanted the bodies.

Arcade ran from body to body, looking for signs of life. Where were they? He couldn't find either of them, just plenty of bodies: Vipers, Brotherhood, Fiends, Legion, Khans… too many, too many.

Someone sat slumped in the middle of the bodies. _Ponix?_ Arcade called. No response. He couldn't be dead. The ponix comes back from death.

Arcade touched the man's shoulder. Gunnar jerked and tried to bring up his overgrown pistol. _Click-click-click-click-click_ at the dark desert. Then Gunnar turned toward him, eyes burning like reflected firelight, face covered in blood — 

Arcade woke, huddled on one of the spare beds, and waited for the dream to fade. It was only a dream, he told himself. Just his brain making a memory into a nightmare. That was all. Nothing more. Gunnar hadn't been surrounded by all those bodies… only seven or eight.


	30. Blues in the Night

"…and we brought you back here," Arcade finished. 

Gunnar and Veronica had both recovered enough to sit up and talk quietly, while the Followers slept.

Gunnar took a deep breath, exhaled, and said nothing.

"Nobody else survived," Veronica said. It wasn't a question.

"No. It must have been quite a battle." Arcade looked to each of them. They looked tired and drawn — the look Arcade had seen on victims and NCR soldiers alike after trauma. Gunnar had a bad cut high on his right cheekbone, now cleaned up and bandaged, but certainly not cause of all the blood on him when the Followers had arrived. Veronica's hands were still bruised.

"So…" Arcade said, when it became evident nobody was going to speak up.

"One got away," Gunnar said, looking at nothing.

Veronica stared at him. "Which one? Who?"

"One of the men with the bombs."

"Bombs?" Arcade asked.

"You let him get away?" Veronica snapped. Arcade gestured for her to keep her voice down.

"I didn't let him get away," Gunnar said, patiently. "He got away just fine without any help."

"But he got away," Veronica repeated. "Stop shushing me, Arcade."

"If you can't keep it down we'll have the entire outpost awake," Arcade hissed. "And after getting you back here and taking care of you — "

"Stop trying to guilt me," Veronica said, her voice catching. "You think I don't have enough of that already? Do you?"

"Veronica." Gunnar's voice was still quiet, and he still looked at nothing. "It's okay to be upset. Angry." Now he looked at her. "None of that had to happen."

"You're damn right it didn't! You didn't even give them a chance!"

Gunnar rose stiffly and limped toward the door. "Where are you going?" Veronica and Arcade both said. Gunnar didn't answer, but went outside.

Veronica snatched up her coat and Arcade did the same. Arcade then remembered to grab Gunnar's before heading outside.

Gunnar kept limping until he was across the tiny courtyard and at the other side of the enclosure. There he eased himself to a seat on a crate.

"What're you doing?" Arcade scolded, draping the coat around Gunnar's shoulders.

"Now we won't disturb anyone." Gunnar rubbed his knee.

They both stared at him.

"It's freezing out here," Arcade said.

"Yes. So we'll have to talk quickly. But now we won't wake anyone." Gunnar huddled into the coat, then slipped his arms through the sleeves. "Veronica? You were saying?"

"You didn't give my people a chance," she said, at first with less fire than before, but then she warmed up to it. "They might have been coming to help us!"

Gunnar raised his eyes slightly, in the typical looking-up-to-try-to-remember expression.

"And you attacked them. Because of you, they're dead now." Veronica kept herself together. "They're all dead. Because they were following us. Maybe they realized what I was saying was true, that we need to change. Maybe they had a change of heart back at the bunker. Maybe this all could have been avoided!"

She stopped. Nobody spoke for a little while.

Gunnar cleared his throat. "If they were coming to help us, or talk to us," he said, "why didn't they say anything at the start of the battle? Like, 'Veronica, don't shoot!' or 'Hold your fire, we're on the same side!'? Because we know they can talk even with those helmets on."

Veronica clenched her fists.

"If the men in brown leather hadn't attacked all of us," Gunnar went on, "it's very likely that the Paladins would be alive, but not us. I think they were after you."

"After me."

"Yes. We'd already had the standoff at the bunker. We said you were leaving."

"You said that. I never did."

Gunnar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Veronica, you are only bound to me by your promise to stay with me and see this through, to help your own people, whether they deserve it or not. If it will help you make a decision, I release you from any oath or promise to stay with me. Go back to them, if you wish. Tell them what happened."

"I — "

"Or take up wandering again. But I won't force you to travel and fight alongside me if you think me guilty and hate me for it."

Veronica said nothing.

"But maybe, after an awful battle, you're just angry and looking for something or someone to blame," Gunnar went on. 

"Why," Veronica said, and her voice sounded so strangled, "are you so goddamned _nice?"_ She put her hands on either side of her head, as though trying to keep it in place. "Whose idea was this to talk at night anyway? We should sleep. Nobody can think properly at night."

"We were all awake," Arcade pointed out.

"Then we should've had a nice cup of tea and told a story and been put back to bed." She was trying so hard to make light of it. "I'm going back to sleep," she said, and now she wasn't trying to hide the strain in her voice. 

"I hope you sleep well," Gunnar said. "Without any dreams."

"…Thanks." She hesitated, as if waiting for something, then turned and walked away.

"We should do the same," Arcade said, stamping his feet.

"In a moment."

"It's cold out here. Not good for you," Arcade said.

"She needs time to herself, without us there. And I can tell you my side of what happened."

"Which is?" 

"That a lot of people died for no good reason." Gunnar sank his chin into his coat. "And I can't rely on the Brotherhood. I don't know if they're untrustworthy. But they're best left alone for now. If they decide to attack me again — which I doubt — they'll regret it." 

"Which I agree with, and that this whole trip was a waste of time at best, and look what happened to both of you, not to mention — who were those others?"

"The Vipers? They were in there by accident. We ran into them, trying to escape the Paladins. And this is why we have to give Veronica a little privacy." Gunnar cocked his head while looking up at Arcade.

"Fine. Start at the beginning. Tell me what happened at the bunker."

Gunnar told an abbreviated version of what happened, ending with the battle. "I'm still not sure what exactly happened," he said. "It's hard to remember it all. It happened so fast."

"So you don't know who this other group was?"

Gunnar shook his head. "Did they have anything on them? I was too far gone to check."

"Money from every major group around. Legion, NCR, caps, pre-war money, even poker chips from all the casinos. Not a lot, mind you. Just enough to say they had some, and none of it enough to be payment for a hit." Arcade wrapped his arms around himself. "Can we go inside now? I'm freezing."

"Yes. Help me up, please."

Together they walked back inside.


	31. You'll Never Walk Alone

Gunnar's knee still twinged when he walked, but he was adamant they return to Vegas. "I need to be seen there," he said. "And to find out what's happening. And why hasn't anyone hitched a brahmin to a cart in the Mojave?"

There were some two-wheeled carts in use, to be pulled by people. None here, at this outpost, and anyway they weren't suitable for overland travel; it would be a very bumpy and sometimes impossible ride.

"I always heard it was because they're stubborn, they won't pull," Veronica said. "But people do pile things on them. They can carry a lot."

"Sure, but why don't we have a draft animal that can pull vehicles? Or a plow?"

"Maybe because they can't?" Arcade hazarded. It hadn't occurred to him that this was even a problem.

"I say that's bullpucky. What?" Gunnar looked at Veronica, who stifled a laugh. "So I don't like to curse. Sue me."

The three had set out in the morning as though nothing had changed. Gunnar had given them what medical supplies he could spare, and some caps, and injected himself with another stimpack in hopes it would ease his knee. Both Arcade and Dr. Alvarez had advised against travel, and Gunnar had insisted.

"Maybe they don't have a yoke for a two-headed animal," Gunnar mused. "But brahmins are based off common domesticated cattle, as far as I can tell, and they never had trouble pulling a cart. Not as fast or strong as a horse, but — "

"You and your horses," Arcade said.

"Losing horses is a major setback for civilization. People used them for thousands of years, for war, travel, agriculture, and food. I need to find out why there aren't any draft animals here. Maybe something can be done about that."

Veronica and Arcade shared a look between them. 

"Besides, if we had any kind of riding animal, I wouldn't have to walk and possibly injure my knee more," Gunnar grumbled. The stimpack had helped, but he knew both doctors were right: he still shouldn't be walking on it.

"Someone's working on tame bighorners, I think," Arcade said. "I don't know if you could tame any of the bugs or lizards. Or deathclaws."

"Anyone trying to tame deathclaws gets what they deserve," Veronica said.

They all agreed on that, and a silence fell among them.

"Cass might know," Veronica said.

"She might! Another good reason to get back. I have to say, walking everywhere has done wonders for my stamina."

Arcade guffawed.

"What now?"

"You realize we match our pace and travel to you, right?" Arcade teased. "We've all walked our whole lives. You rode horses or cars. You tire out before anyone else."

"That isn't true," Gunnar said defensively.

"Well…" Veronica joined in the teasing. 

"Oh, come on." Gunnar narrowed his eyes.

"Well, you do seem to tire out more than we do," she said. "But then, you've been hurt a lot lately. So we'll excuse it for that. Hey, Arcade? Can you… give us a moment?"

Arcade stared at her, then shrugged. "Sure. I'll just be over here. Looking for mole rats." They all kept walking, but Arcade now veered off so he'd be in sight, but not within earshot.

"I want to thank you for not throwing me out last night," Veronica said quietly.

"I wouldn't have thrown you out of the outpost."

"Not there. I mean… Being part of this group of yours. You're right, I was angry."

"It happens to all of us."

"And… I'm sorry for what happened."

Gunnar nodded. "I accept."

He was willing to let it go then, but Veronica kept talking. "I just… I can't believe my family would turn on me like that. I guess I can never go back now." She hung her head for a moment, then looked up, took a deep breath and squared her shoulders. "But if they don't get killed by the NCR or the Legion, maybe I can still talk sense into them someday. You think?"

"I've never been in that situation. You'd know better than I would how they'd react."

"Well, I can try." She sniffles, wiped her nose on her sleeve and smiled gamely at him. "And we did try."

"Yes, we did." 

Gunnar remembered another family, David's, and how David wanted and tried to reconcile with them, to no avail. He said nothing of it to Veronica; let her have hope. Her family might yet unbar the door.


	32. Way Back Home

The three lay on a hill and studied the approach to New Vegas.

"Is there any way to get inside without crossing NCR territory?" Gunnar asked. 

"You're in NCR territory now," Arcade said. "But you probably mean without getting surrounded by troops, correct?"

"Of course that's what I meant." Gunnar's knee throbbed and he hoped he wouldn't have to walk much longer on it. It needed rest.

"Well… we could go through Westside."

"Or you could wear a disguise," Veronica said. "You know, color your hair…"

"With what? Shoe polish? No thank you."

"We can hardly disguise you as a refugee."

"We can hardly disguise any of us," Arcade pointed out. "I'm sure the NCR remembers me, too."

"So through Westside, then?"

"Not through Westside. We have to use the North Gate." Arcade scratched his chin. Both he and Gunnar sported real stubble by now. "I know a place we might… No, too many of us, they wouldn't be able to put all of us up, and we should stick together."

"Put us all up?" Gunnar asked. "Like, overnight?"

"Yeah, I wasn't thinking. Anyway, we can make it, especially when it gets dark. If we keep our helmets on and cover our faces, I think we can get back without trouble."

"What about this?" Veronica asked, pointing at Gunnar's barn gun. "Not many people carry one of these."

"I said, after dark," Arcade said. "And we'll be careful. All we have to do is get onto the Strip. That's Ponix territory."

~ ~ ~

They spent the rest of the afternoon dozing and discussing possible tactics in case any number of scenarios might occur, however unlikely. When twilight fell and the neon lights cast glaring multiple shadows, they made their way through Freeside, heading toward the North Gate. Nobody paid them much attention. 

"I hope nothing's happened while we were away," Gunnar muttered for the nth time.

"The city's still standing, and nobody's talked about NCR or anyone else taking over," Arcade said.

"It's too cold to take over," Veronica murmured behind her face wrap. "I'm ready to get into the 38 and get warm."

They safely entered through the North Gate, Gunnar showing his face to the Securitrons there. Then it was just a short way to the 38.

"What's this?" Veronica said.

They stopped to look at the neon-lit poster she indicated. Red and black, it featured a stylized Gunnar above the city, the ponix's wings outstretched behind both of them.

_Gunnar Volk:  
Protector of New Vegas_

"Did you set this up?" Arcade asked.

"Not me," Gunnar said. He saw another one: a fiery red bird over the silhouette of the Vegas skyline, such as it was. The text read _New Vegas Will Rise Again!_

They kept walking, and noted a new anti-Gunnar poster as well, proclaiming him a murderous usurper.

"I'm not even running for office," Gunnar said.

"Don't knock it," Veronica said. "Someone's on your side. Someone with enough pull to get posters made." 

"I think I need to find out where the poster shop is," Gunnar said thoughtfully. "Both sides are spilling a lot of ink over me."

They made it to the 38 without incident. Arcade made a point of picking up the mail and not letting Gunnar look at it. "Just in case," he said.

"I'm not a child," Gunnar grumbled, but otherwise said no more about it. 

Nobody else was home, so Veronica said goodbye to them at the presidential suite. "Let's hope nothing happens before noon tomorrow," she said.

"Amen. Sleep well," Gunnar said.

The elevator doors closed. 

"Thanks for not giving Veronica a hard time," Gunnar continued.

"Only for your sake," Arcade sniffed. "I'm exercising all my willpower not to say I told you so."

"We don't have to say it." The doors opened onto the penthouse floor. "She already knows. Help me to the room."

Arcade had already assisted Gunnar to reach the 38. He put an arm around the other man to take some of his weight. "You should rest that knee now that we're back."

"That's the idea. Oh, scheiss."

"Eh?"

"We’re too dirty for the bed."

Arcade rolled his eyes. "You can't tell me you mean to get a shower at this moment on a bad knee."

"Maybe not that, but I've got to do something." 

"I could help you shower."

"I can bathe myself," Gunnar said, gritting his teeth. "If my doctor will get me some painkillers."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 6 starts Thursday!


End file.
